Between The Question Marks
by OrangeLovePerson
Summary: Puberty isn't easy, especially, in a world that gets more and more dangerous. Set in the beginning of "Order of the Phoenix". Romione.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello, lovely readers :) Thanks for giving this a try._ _I don't own these amazing characters, of course, I'm just a fan._ _Leave me a review and you get a virtual hug for free._

* * *

 ** _Boredom & Fellytoning_**

 _(RON)_

Perhaps, it was a little pathetic for him to ask Hermione eight times in a row, if she couldn't finally agree to come to Grimmauld's Place with them, but he desperately needed company. Apart from Ginny, that was, and from the twins. And from the whole bunch of order members, obviously, the adults, who wouldn't let them in on something, ever. Yep, Hermione definitely needed to accompany them already, and Ron would have to make sure that she actually did.

The general mood in that horribly Black-ly and spider-contaminated house had gotten pretty awful at this point. Percy's betrayal was still bringing their Mum to tears every day, Sirius was more bugged out and embittered than Ron had ever seen him be, and all the tidying up was just exhausting. And for some reason, Ron felt, it would all be much less gruesome at Grimmauld's Place, if Hermione would be there with him.

 _"I'd love to join you all, Ron, I'm sure it's so exciting to be bound in something productive, but my parents want me to stay a little longer with them still."_ , she'd told him, the day before his family had left the Burrow to go to London. Not only had he finally figured out the function of fellytones, but also the official name for these things, "telephones". By communicating with her this way, Ron had been able to tell her a little more about their plans than it would have been possible via owl. Still, he obviously couldn't openly talk about any details, - not, that he knew many, anyway. _"I'm really sorry, Ron"_ , she'd then added, and sighed against his ear through the machine. Ron had been quite surprised to hear her sound so miserable, and couldn't help but really miss her, in that instant...

 _"It's okay, no problem. I'll owl you when I'm there, okay?"_ , he'd said, before saying goodbye to her to pack his trunk.

Harry couldn't come, Dumbledore had said as much to everyone, for whatever reason, but Hermione was already halfway through convincing her parents to let her go, at this point. It had been seven days, since they'd fellytoned, and the prospect of seeing her again was filling Ron with a ridiculous amount of anticipation. He'd written her every day, constantly begging her to accompany them, so at one point, her parents would have to agree, wouldn't they? The summer holidays were simply too long, to be away from your friends. Especially, in uncertain times like these. Everything was so messed up, since the end of the term, that it didn't even feel like real holidays any more. He needed someone to make him feel slightly normal again, and who could be better for that than Hermione?

And also, he was slightly scared for her safety.

Not, that he expected things to get terrible right away. You-know-who had merely been back for a few weeks, the whole Ministry still didn't even believe in it...

But, if what the order members said, was true, then the first people to be endangered by his comeback would be Muggles and Muggleborns. And Hermione was right in the middle of that all, without any real protection, if anything would happen...

She was quite capable of defending herself, of course. She was Hermione! And therefore, bloody perfect in almost every-freaking-thing. But she also was a target, wasn't she? Being one of Harry Potter's best friends, and all...

Ron shuddered and felt his ears redden in anger, at the thought of what that douche Malfoy had said last year, after the World Cup... Something about Hermione better hiding fast, because the Death Eaters would surely recognise a "Mudblood"... disgusting person, that Malfoy, and still, Ron couldn't help but think about that comment quite often, recently.

"Ron? Are you there?", said a voice from behind his closed wooden door, and he looked up from where he lay on his bed.

"What's up, Ginny?", he questioned, and a second later, his sister had entered the room already, the owl Pig swaying happily on her shoulder and a letter in her outstretched hand.

"Hey, here's another one from Hermione. Could you please tell her to hurry up a little with her other holiday activities? It's getting pretty creepy, being alone in that room upstairs.", Ginny complained, while abstractedly fondling the tiny owl's plumes. "Last night, Kreacher was rummaging around in my wardrobe again, in the middle of the night! I could use a roommate."

"Well, you won't need to wait long for that!", Ron said, a grin slowly spreading across his face. He'd eagerly taken the letter from Ginny the moment she'd opened the door, and was now excitedly following his best friend's neat, tiny handwriting on the paper.

"She says her parents agreed to let her go to us! She asks, if we could come and pick her up tomorrow!"


	2. Chapter 2

**_Ridiculous thoughts_**

 _(Hermione)_

His arms were so warm. So ridiculously, wonderfully warm, that she couldn't help but to sigh, contentedly, against the side of his neck. At that, his ridiculously, wonderfully warm arms tightened their hold on her a little. She was pressed against him even tighter. It felt so incredibly right, so safe and comfortable...

And then, with a start, she woke up.

She blinked a few times, confused, and her lashes reveled in the texture of the huge, blue pillow she was pressing to her body... The one, that had basically been _Ron_ , a minute ago.

She felt herself blush and sat up in her bed. The sun was glinting down on her through her big window, warm and lightly yellow.

It wasn't the first time Hermione had had a more than amicable dream about her best friend, Ron Weasley. It also wasn't the most non-amicable dream she'd had about him up to this point.. There had been far worse ones. Her face was downright burning, just with the thought about those...

Not, that they felt bad during the time she dreamt them. Definitely not bad. But as soon as she woke up, she felt horrible. It was so awkward and embarrassing! Puberty really wasn't that easy.

Hermione sighed, pulled the loose hair tie out of her completely messy curls, and crawled out of bed. Just, as she was about to open the window, to let some fresh morning air into the room, there was a noise. Something tiny was crashing against the glass, once, twice, over and over... A bird?

Hermione gasped and moved slightly closer to the window again. She'd taken a step back after the first collision of the...something.. with the pane.

"Pigwidgeon?", she whispered, a surprised grin slowly spreading on her lips, as she recognised the happy little feather wad. She ripped the window open, accidentally almost hitting the tiny owl with it, and couldn't help but to beam at the sight of the huge envelope in his small claws. Her smile turned even wider when she discovered Ron's askew, dishevelled handwriting on the front. Her bustling fingers unfolded the paper in the course of three or four seconds, while Pig shimmied down to the floor with a contented curr.

 _Hi Hermione,_

 _I just received your letter tonight, awesome, that your parents let you stay with us! Ginny is already looking forward to sharing her room with you, and Mum and Dad are also happy to have you with us again. There are quite a few people you should meet! Hey, I don't know when you will get this letter, since Pig has proven to be total loser in carrying stuff out, but would it be okay for me and my Dad to come over and pick you up tomorrow afternoon? For you, that's probably this afternoon. Write back to me as soon as possible, okay?_

 _See you soon!_

 _Ron_

Hermione grinned excitedly after finishing the letter, and rushed to her desk, to scribble a few lines down herself, as well.

 _Dear Ron,_

 _Of course you and your Dad can come to my place this afternoon, that sounds great! I've already packed and I can't wait to see you all again. Is this really okay for your parents, though? I don't want to cause any inconveniences, of course, especially after all that Percy-drama. So, if anything should get in the way, I would obviously understand it. Otherwise, I'll see you later!_

 _Love,_

 _Hermione_

She stared at the lines she'd written, once again, and read them a few more times, analysing them. Recently, she'd become quite insecure about her letters to Ron, for some reason; she always had this ridiculous fear that something about her words might sound strange or unusual or just a little bit too formal or polite. Well, her letters had always been rather formal or polite, she thought, but she didn't want Ron to think that anything weird was going on in her head. Especially the tiny word above her name was a little disturbing to her eyes, as silly as that was. Hermione sometimes worried, that he, - or anyone else, for that matter, - would find out about the things she felt for him, now and then, all the things she suspected or pondered and dreamed about, from time to time...

 _Write back to me as soon as possible, okay?,_ he'd said! _  
_

"Alright!", Hermione told herself, focusing again on the task at hand. She folded the tiny piece of paper, to knot it on Pig's little leg, and fondly gave him a little peck on his fluffy bird-head. Then, Hermione opened up the window, once again, and watched as the tiny owl flew away. Towards his owner, wherever he currently was.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Theories and travel plans_**

 _(RON)_

"Aww, another one from your girlfriend, ickle Ronnie!", Fred laughed, waggling the letter in front of his little brother's eyes. George snickered and looked up from the disgusting looking mould he was currently trying to rid the kitchen floor from, and grinned, as well. "Seriously? That has to be the tenth one already, since we left!"

"They are growing up so fast, aren't they?", asked Fred maudlinly, pretending to brush a non-existing tear out of the corner of his eye.

"It's not the tenth one, all right? It's only the seventh one so far!", Ron clarified, annoyedly, after finally snitching the letter out of Fred's hands. At that, the twins kept snorting with laughter. "Shut up, you wankers!", murmured Ron, the tips of his ears turning red, and slowly stole away, to open the envelope upstairs, in his room. He always preferred to read Hermione's letters in private, especially recently, since the twins were currently becoming even more annoying about that topic. _That topic_ being his friendship with Hermione. Really, he didn't know what they were even on about! It wasn't like they didn't have female friends, so why were they making such a fuss about Hermione?

All right, so perhaps, she wasn't only a friend to him, at all times. Sometimes, there was... something. Something weird, and different, and better not to be thought about too much... At least not earnestly.

Well, now and then, Ron did consciously think about her that way... Sometimes, when he would lay up at night, or when he watched her in the common room at Hogwarts... With all that orange flickering from the chimney across her concentrated face, her teeth biting down on her lower lip ever so slightly...

But these thoughts were most definitely not something he wanted anyone else to know about.

Fortunately, his brothers seemed to have at least the decency to shut up about their assumptions when Harry was around... Or, even worse, Hermione herself...

Ron shook his head, scratching his neck, and managed, to shake these thoughts off, as he opened the letter.

 _Dear Ron,_

 _Of course you and your Dad can come to my place this afternoon, that sounds great! I've already packed and I can't wait to see you all again. Is this really okay for your parents, though? I don't want to cause any inconveniences, of course, especially after all that Percy-drama. So, if anything should get in the way, I would obviously understand it. Otherwise, I'll see you later!_

 _Love,_

 _Hermione_

Ron laughed out loud, shaking his head at her obvious desire to be as polite as possible to his parents, when she already knew from him that most of their time they would spent cleaning an ugly, old building. She couldn't really "cause any inconveniences", since most of their life currently revolved around those. For an instant, he couldn't help but to feel really grateful towards her. Alright, she was mostly joining them, to feel helpful and while probably being terribly curious about what might be going on, but still, she also was sacrificing another few weeks with her parents, to see him and his family again, instead! Which really was awesome. Ron read her letter again, and his smile only got brighter. Then he jumped down the stairs of Grimmauld Place, drastically slowing down, as soon as he passed the painting of Sirius' mother, and quietly continued to make his way as fast as possible back to the basement, where his parents were momentarily repairing some old cupboard.

"Hey, Mum, hey Dad, guess what Hermione just told me?", he laughed, waving with the letter in his hands.

"She's ready to come here, too?", his mother asked, fondly.

"Yep, she says that, as long as she doesn't "cause any inconveniences", she would like to be picked up at her place this afternoon! You're free, right Dad?"

"She doesn't cause any inconveniences, of course!", protested his mother, smiling. "Arthur, what do you think, do you have time in an hour or two?"

"Or how about now?", Ron urged, hopefully, "We could apparate to her place right now, couldn't we, Dad?"

Arthur smirked, warmly. "Now, now, Ron, I can't let your mother do all that work here alone. Besides, it's only half past one, she's probably not expecting us this early, anyway, is she?"

"How has she even received that letter you wrote her last night, and also send an answer already?", Molly wondered. "Isn't your owl normally really slow?"

"Well, she must have answered my letter pretty early this morning", Ron shrugged. "She always gets up pretty early."

His Mum shook her head. "Once again Ron, I think you could learn a lesson or two from your friend Hermione!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Whatever, so when are we going to visit Hermione's place, Dad? Let's say, half an hour?"

Arthur chuckled, blowing the dust from an old drawer, before putting it back inside the cupboard.

"All right, Ron. Half an hour."

Ron grinned, walking up the stairs again, a happy swing in each of his steps.

"So... What do you think?", Molly murmured, conspiratorially eyeing her husband in the half-light of the basement, " A year, perhaps?"

"A whole year? Still?", Arthur uttered, incredulously, "No way. I tell you, Molly, in less than six months, he'll realise that he's completely nuts about that girl! I mean, it's getting more and more obvious, don't you think?"

Molly shrugged, uncertainly. "I don't know, Arthur. In many ways, Ron's still pretty immature, sometimes... I really hope they'll figure it out, though, at one point. She's such a nice and decent girl, and after all that drama Rita Skeeter wrote about her last year turned out to be untrue..." She smiled, lost in thoughts. "Well, Ron's obviously important to her.. We'll see..", Molly concluded.

"Yeah, you're right, dear.", Arthur agreed, wiping another drawer with a grey rag, "Although, it's exciting to think about, sometimes, the possibility of having a Muggleborn in the family, one day!"

"For Merlin's sake, Arthur! There barely in fifth grade yet, stop getting your hopes up that high!"

"You're right, of course, Molly.", he told his wife, hastily, once again. "You're right."

* * *

 _Hi guys, so I originally thought about making this little story about their summer holidays only, but it's actually pretty fun to write, so I might continue it throughout their whole fifth year. What do you think? I might also change the rating to M, since there might be some specific dreams and thoughts in future chapters, in that case. Tell me about your opinion, please! :) Thanks for reading._


	4. Chapter 4

**_A most welcome visit_**

 _( Hermione )_

The door bell rang at exactly two 'o' clock, that afternoon, and Hermione ran down the stairs quite exhilaratedly. Ron was peering through the lactic glass pane of their front door, waving at her from one or two inches higher, than she was used to. She unlocked the door and pulled it open, quite flushed.

"Hi.", she breathed, grinning.

"Hi, to you, too.", Ron answered, his incredibly red hair tousled from the windy air outside and a big smirk on his freckly face.

"Hello, Mr. Weasley", Hermione added, shaking his father's hand and then stepping aside, to let them enter the corridor.

"Good afternoon, Hermione! It's lovely to see you again!", Ron's Dad said, between gaping at every inch of their hall and stairway, "And it's lovely to visit your house once again, as well! Look at this, Ron, isn't this _amazing_?"

Hermione eyed the wall Ron's Dad was looking at curiously, not quite getting what was so interesting about the colourful but otherwise ordinary map of Europe hanging there. "Oh, and that has to be one of those fire-reducers, right?", he then added, fascinatedly gazing at the red object right next to him.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley, that's a fire-extinguisher, in case there's a fire somewhere inside the house.", Hermione told him, amusedly watching the man kneel down next to it and examining it from a close up angle, while she exchanged a quizzical look with Ron. It was so immensely wonderful to have him stand there, in the middle of her home, after the several weeks of seperation... For a moment, Hermione felt giddy enough to almost take the few steps towards him and pull him in a tight hug... But it felt a little late for that, now, that they'd already greeted each other, and in such a close proximity to his Dad. And also, there still was the sneaking picture of the morning's dream in the back of Hermione's head, the idea of waking up with his arms curled tightly around her body... Nope, she decided, now was just not the time for a hug with Ron.

"Where are your parents, Hermione? Are they at work?", asked his Dad, in that instant reappearing out of the bubble that were his immensely curious thoughts about Muggles' fire protection, if only to focus on another topic concerning them.

"Oh, no, they usually don't work on Saturday afternoons. They're probably in the garden, if they didn't hear the door bell ring.", Hermione explained. "By the way", she wondered, looking at Ron, "How come you didn't arrive through the chimney, like last time? I would have expected you to use Floopowder, once again?"

He nodded, chasing a glance at his father, who was now staring at one of the unmoving wedding photographs of Hermione's parents in the living room, a look of huge scientific interest once again visible on his face.

"Yes, I also thought we'd travel straight here, but apparently Dad had other plans.. He said he needed to do something concerning the Order somewhere in this area first. We used Floopowder to travel to some little antique shop, two miles from here,- "

"You mean, "Melissa's treasures"? Wait, that store is run by a non-Muggle?!", Hermione asked, surprised, but Ron shook his head, leaning a little closer towards her and slightly lowering his voice, while carefully eyeing his father inspect each inch of the Grangers' living room a few metres away from them. Mr. Weasley seemed pretty abstracted though and didn't pay attention to his son's behaviour...- on the contrary to Hermione, who almost had to keep herself from shivering slightly, feeling Ron's breath so close to her skin and hearing his low-spoken words so close to her ear... Gosh, she really needed to stop having such a kind of thoughts about him! He was just Ron, for heaven's sake! No need to get all buggy...

"Nah, I don't think so. No one was there, I bet Dad just knew about that place having a chimney and currently being deserted, or something... Anyway, in that store, there was this drawer he opened, and I think he pulled something into his pocket, but I didn't really see what it was. No idea what all that was about, he wouldn't tell me, but then afterwards we walked for quite a while to your place, - Dad wanted to try finding the way there by asking a few Muggle-pedestrians for the exact direction and stuff, you know how he is,...- and here we are!", Ron concluded, smiling once again.

Hermione laughed at this, finally moving from where she'd stood in the doorsill with him for the past several minutes, and instead pulled him towards the kitchen. "Well, in that case, I should definitely offer you two something to drink!"

"Oh, do you still have that stuff from last year, the one that looks like pee but doesn't taste like it?", Ron grinned, excitedly. Hermione snickered. "Wait, do you mean apple juice?"

"Yeah, exactly! I wasn't sure whether it was made out of apples or of pears, but it was nice."

Still giggling, Hermione opened the refrigerator, and immediately Ron's father was at her side.

"There it is! Isn't that _amazing_ , Ron?", Arthur wanted to know, his blue eyes glowing, as he watched the light go on and then turn out again with Hermione's movement of the door. "How do they get the closet to know whether it's open or not?", he then pondered out loud, and Hermione and Ron exchanged a funny look, once again.

At that, the quiet slamming of a door was to be heard, and her mother called her name from the living room.

"We're here, Mum!", Hermione answered, looking around the kitchen's corner. "Ron and his Dad came to pick me up."

"Oh, how lovely, dear.", said her Mum, now entering the little room with a warm expression and a lot of sunscreen on her pale face. She was wearing her favourite blue summer dress, the one Hermione had picked together with her in that one amazing boutique in Paris, during the holidays of her second year.

For the first time that day, Hermione's thoughts wandered to her own clothes, and she inconspicuously glanced down at her light blue jeans and the green shirt she was wearing. She inwardly let out a sigh of relief. Okay; nothing too chic and also nothing blurry. Not, that it would really have been a problem for Ron to see her in unflattering clothes, Hermione hastened to tell herself. He was just Ron, and he had proven to be quite insensible and superficial sometimes, so it didn't really matter what he thought about her look, anyway. She just wanted to make a good impression on his parents, since they were generous enough to let her live with them for another few weeks, once again, Hermione decided.

During the two seconds it had cost her to ponder this topic, her Mum had already greeted Ron and his Dad with a handshake and a warm smile, and was now lightly touching Hermione's shoulder in a half-embrace. Her mother always got especially affectionate, whenever Hermione was about to leave for school once again. It really wasn't that easy, sometimes, Hermione supposed, having to send your only child away, year after year, for her to learn more and more about a world never to be understood by you.

"Darling, why don't you go and take all your stuff downstairs with Ron, and Arthur can come and have a fresh lemonade outside with us? I'm sure Derek would love to answer him another few of his many questions about our lifestyle, and everything.", her Mum suggested, chuckling. Ron's Dad beamed, not only about the idea of drinking a lemonade with Muggles in their garden, but also about hearing one of them use his first name once again, probably. He'd insisted on having her parents call him _Arthur_ since the day they met, apparently loving the idea of a close friendship with them. Hermione obviously didn't mind that.

Ron shrugged, one side of his mouth curled up a little in a wonderfully carefree kind of way, and together the two of them made their way upstairs, to Hermione's room. She couldn't help but to feel excited for the weeks to come, - spending the rest of the summer together with him in the Burrow. Or wherever else they would be going, soon.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Scary Things  
**_

 **(RON)**

Everything in Hermione's home was different. There was no loud noise blustering from some room above them, no ghoul or living article hiding there. There were no clothes folding themselves in the bedrooms, and no dishes washing themselves in the kitchen below. The neatly framed photographs that decorated the walls here weren't moving, everyone in them just kept still inside for all eternity. Ron would look at them and wait for them to move, nonetheless, expecting someone to spring to life already, but they never did. It was kind of creepy, actually, reminding him of these few months in their second year, when Hermione had been petrified...

But at least, she was smiling in these pictures. There were photos of her as a very small child, her big brown eyes glowing beneath a woolly hat; photos on playgrounds and in museums (at least that's what Ron suspected these huge rooms to be); there were photos of Hermione and her parents in a wood, with a tent somewhere in the background and each of them wearing a colourful raincoat, even though the sun seemed to shine; and then there was this one picture he'd seen so many times already, the one of Hermione and her parents in front of the Eiffel tower. She was grinning – her teeth still in their old, much more noticeable shape -, fingers curling around the straps of her rucksack, presumably filled with tourist guidebooks and homework, while her parents smiled from either side of her... Ron had looked at this photo pretty often already since she'd send him a copy of it. Not, because it was a photo of Hermione, of course! It simply was the only muggle photograph he owned, so it was kind of a peculiarity, wasn't it? Peculiar enough to stare at it quite often, actually.

"Ron? Everything alright?", she asked, in this instant, amusedly looking down at him from were she stood, a few steps ahead of him at the upper end of the stairs. Ron shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching into a slightly apologetic half-grin, and unglued his eyes from the wall of photographs.

"This is kind of scary, you know?", he laughed, meeting her questioning gaze.

"What? You staring at a wall for over two minutes? Yep, that's a little scary.", she commented.

He shook his head, eyes returning to the pictures in front of him. "Aren't they _ever_ moving?", he wanted to know, sounding a little frustrated even to his own ears. Hermione giggled, bewilderedly. "Ron, you've seen muggle photographs before! Doesn't Dean have a poster of his favourite Soccer-team up in your dormitory?"

"Yeah, but that's kind of different, isn't it?", Ron argued, "I don't know Dean's favourite Soccer-team personally, do I?" Hermione rolled her eyes, but Ron could see the humour in her face, still.

He let the matter drop and took the few steps separating them up the stairs.

Hermione turned around a corner and walked along a little, turquoise painted hall. Ron chanced a few glances into the rooms they passed, - a completely blue-coloured bathroom, a small room with a desk and a huge bookshelf in it, and another one that looked like it might be the bedroom of Hermione's parents. Ron had never been up here. The last time they'd picked Hermione up and brought her to the Burrow, she'd already eagerly awaited them in front of her family's chimney, a wide smile on her face and all her stuff neatly packed. Now, that Ron was about to see her room for the first time, he couldn't help but to be pretty curious. He kept looking around their hall, with not nearly as much interest as his Dad might have had, in the same situation, but still with enough to almost tumble over his own feet when they reached Hermione's doorstep.

"Oh, careful, Ron! There's a little stage!"

She opened the door then, and they entered a rather small, but colourful and extremely tidy room. There was a tiny desk, upon it nothing but a box with white paper in it, and a few little flowers in small pots. The lightly purple painted wooden chair matched the colour of the bed and the little wardrobe. There lay orange and red pillows on top of her light blue sheets, and Ron absent-mindedly wondered, whether this had something to do with her being a Gryffindor, or not. But the most striking thing in Hermione's room, were the books. They were everywhere: arranged in a tall pile next to the desk, side by side on top of the wardrobe, in several shelves above her bed and in another huge heap stored next to it. On the low window sill, there were several folders, and one wall, which was not covered with ranks of books, for a change, was decently pasted with little notes, on which Ron spotted a few spells and runes. Overall, the room was so immensely, incredibly loudly screaming _Hermione,_ that Ron's only choice was to burst out laughing.

"What's up with you?", Hermione complained, indignantly, but Ron could see her eyes twinkle. He grinned at her and pointed at everything around them.

"Isn't that obvious?"

"Not really, actually."

"This is like...- I mean...- " he shook his head, searching for a way to explain his amazement to her, "Look, if you ever wanted to be an Animagi, but a room instead of an animal, I'm pretty sure this would be your identical twin."

Hermione stared at him for the blink of an eye, and then cracked up, just like he had. "What?", she spoke, in between giggles, but Ron just shrugged and sat at her bed, looking around again with a smile. Hermione took the chair by her desk, and he shook his head, eyeing the many bookshelves plastered to the walls. "Seriously, aren't you scared of being battered to death by a bunch of books while you're sleeping? These aren't fixated by magic, are they?"

"No, they aren't, but it's not a big deal. There are pretty stable tools and screws, that work without spells or anything, you know?"

Ron nodded, still not really believing that a little piece of metal alone would be able to hold the weight of so many pages. "No, really!", Hermione assured him, "These bookshelves hung there for years, and nothing ever happened."

"You mean, you're sleeping underneath several hundred pounds of books, every night, and these bookshelves are old, too? Don't you think that's a little risky?", he asked, slightly flabbergasted. Hermione gave him a funny kind of look.

"Well, technically, I'm not sleeping here every night, I mean, most time of the year I'm not even here. And I assure you, it's not dangerous!"

"Don't you find the idea a little scary, anyway?", Ron wondered, looking up at the rows of books again, and discovering a few little photos below the nearest one. To his surprise, he saw his own face laughing back at him, next to Harry's and Hermione's.

"That's the photo my mother took of us, at King's Cross, before the beginning of the holidays. ", Hermione explained, following his gaze, and Ron thought he'd seen her blush a little, for a second. "Oh, cool.", he murmured, momentarily abstracted by the fact that she'd slept so close to a photo of him, for the last few weeks... But even his own face looked a little scary, so unmoving and all, didn't it?

"So, in conclusion, you don't only go to bed each night with the risk of being battered to death by a ton of books, but also with such creepy, motionless photos staring down at you? Seriously Hermione, how can you ever fall asleep at all?"

For a moment, they just stared at each other, and Ron's expression probably resembled her half-annoyed, half-disbelieving face, while he wondered, if this would be the start of another exhausting, exciting little row of theirs, or not... His heart began to beat a little faster in his chest, and he felt the tips of his ears redden, ever so slightly...

But then, she just grinned at him, and he smirked back.

And suddenly, the implied intimacy of what was going on dawned on him, the fact that they were all alone in her bedroom, and that he was sitting on her sheets, talking about her sleeping habits without a care in the world... And she was right there, only a foot or maybe two away... If he wanted to, he could just lean in a little and...

He cleared his throat and she blushed, lowering her gaze to the floor and effectively ending the awkward eye contact they'd been trapped in momentarily. She laughed, nervously, and went over to the wardrobe, to pull her fully packed suitcase out of it.

"So...", she then said, her voice and expression having returned to her former, relaxed state, "Where exactly are we going?"


	6. Chapter 6

_**Hello, Grimmauld Place!**_

 **(Hermione)**

"Mum, we only just got here! You can't seriously expect us to tidy something up already, again!", Ron whined, exasperatedly, while Mrs. Weasley merely wrinkled up her nose and twitched her wand in the direction of the kitchen cabinet. A few freshly washed plates and some silverware flew out of the sink and tidily strung along on top of the dusty case boards.

"I'm not talking about both of you, obviously, Ron. Hermione's got to put all her luggage up into Ginny's room, and probably needs some time for herself, get furnished and everything. By the way, dear", she said, looking worriedly at the girl in question, "You look a little thin, are you eating enough? You kids are growing up so fast, I'll make sure to cook something nice for dinner!"

Hermione wove Molly's concerns away quickly, smiling politely and a little amused.

"Oh, it's okay, Mrs. Weasley, you really don't need to put too much effort in it, I'm sure whatever you make will taste as delicious as always. And also, I'm happy to help Ron with the cleaning of the parlour, it's really no problem!"

Molly chuckled warmly and shook her head. "Nonsense, dear, you'll still have enough space to clean up over the next few weeks, I assure you. But you, Mister", she said, looking severely at her youngest son, "should really get up to work, you said you'd already finished wiping the tiles in the bathroom on second floor, but it still looks horribly filthy! Be a little more thoroughly, next time!"

And with that, Ron's mother left the room, quietly striding through the entrance hall towards the basement stairs, to finish whatever unfinished clean-up efforts or repairs awaited her there.

Hermione turned around again and saw Ron quickly turning his eyes away from her, reaching for his cup of tea, at once. She also took a sip from hers, begging for the situation not to turn weird and for her cheeks not to heat up, once again...

"So..., how much worse is it from what you expected, up to this point?", he asked, still continuing the eye contact with his tea bag, for whatever reason, and she shrugged, looking over at him and not knowing, what he was on about.

"What do you mean?"

"Well...", he murmured, eyeing her a little uncomfortably, almost nervous, "I didn't really tell you about the fact that we're basically spending _all_ our free time cleaning this place up, did I? I mean, you probably didn't expect it to be.. that bad. And then with that painting in the hall..."

Oh, yes, the painting. Now, while Ron had continually shot her anxious glances, and had made weird indications about a certain picture here "having an after-life crisis", Hermione still had been more than a little shocked at the sight of a screaming, cursing and drooling painted woman throwing such a tantrum at the sight of them. Ron's Dad had tripped over a broomstick, by accident, and immediately, the noise had started. Apparently, Sirius' mother felt as connected to these walls as the picture of her was to them, and she didn't tolerate the thought of people like Ron's family being here one bit. Much less the thought of an entire organisation against Him-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named using it as their headquarters. … Mrs. Black was terribly loud and looked like a horror movie figure of the worst kind, and Hermione had sworn to watch her sound volume very carefully for the length of time she was spending here.

But she shook her head and just smiled at Ron's question.

"It's really not that bad, Ron, I mean, it's exciting to be in the middle of something important like this, it's not like a screaming painting and some clearance wouldn't be worth that, is it?"

Ron laughed. "No, seriously, Hermione, things here are pretty lame, you'll see..."

She rolled her eyes. "Alright, if you say so. I tell you something, let me get my baggage in Ginny's room and unpack quickly, and then I'll help you with that bathroom problem."

"Sounds good, let's go!", he grinned, and grabbed the handle of her suitcase while standing up, before she had the chance to do so. She followed him quietly through the hall, a little surprised at Ron's actions. Were his ears turning a little red, maybe?

She tried to recall whether he'd done this last year or not, carrying her luggage upstairs for her, and couldn't quite remember. He probably hadn't, but it also probably wasn't a big deal that he did so, now. He just wanted to be polite!

But then again, when did Ron ever really care about being polite to her?

No, Hermione scolded herself; phrasing it like that wasn't quite fair, either. Of course Ron could be a polite person to her if he wanted to, - but, truth be told, it mostly happened in a rather passive-aggressive, weird context. Like the first few days after the almost unmentionable Yule Ball, when some of their conversations had felt more stiff and unnatural than ever. But she didn't want to think about that right now, as she tiptoed with him up the stairs of this ugly, huge house, - him constantly refusing her silent offers to help him carrying _her_ baggage, with a smile...

Perhaps, it was about the Yule Ball thing, though, couldn't it be? She'd thought a lot about their fight, recently, or about his oh-so-clever detection of her being a girl... Perhaps, Ron wanted to show her in a way, that he regretted his behaviour from half a year ago, and that he actually _did_ see her as a girl, at this point... But that was just a little much to hope for, wasn't it?

Someone carrying heavy luggage upstairs for someone else just didn't really feel like a Hermione-and-Ron-thing. More like a thing a Gentleman would do for a Lady.

 _For heaven's sake_ , Hermione thought by herself, cringing at her own idiotic thoughts; It was obviously just a nice little gesture between friends, but sure enough she'd always find a way of over-interpreting things! Stop being awkward, Hermione, stop.

As they reached the door of what was presumed to be Ginny's and her temporary bedroom, Ron put the baggage down in front of her, grinning happily. "There you go! Don't get frightened by the chaos. Most of these rooms are looking terrible, as you might have noticed."

Hermione laughed, feeling infected by his good mood. Spending time with Ron could be ridiculously easy, sometimes.

"I think I can handle that."

For half of a second he looked, as if he wanted to follow her into the room, to accompany her while she unpacked, but as soon as she had opened the door, Ginny turned up from the stairs above.

"Hey! Hermione, you're here!"

With that, a cheerfull conversation started, and soon enough, Ron had disappeared to clean the second floor's bathroom.

Meanwhile, Ginny told Hermione everything about her current relationship status with Michael Corner, her awesome progress with a certain self-defense charm, and about a dozen little anecdotes concerning Fred and George; a hilarious sounding woman named Tonks; and a pitiable house-elf living at Grimmauld Place for decades already, who Ginny didn't seem to like at all.

When Hermione arrived at the bathroom which Ron was currently scrubbing, half an hour later, she entered it with a lot of thoughts in her head, already about to pour out of her mouth. She had turned a little hyperactive, now, that she was surrounded by her friends again – minus Harry -, but as soon as she saw Ron sitting there, she felt all the words suddenly die on her tongue. She stood still in the doorway and watched him kneel there, whisking the tiles with some kind of soap and rag, a visible look of concentration on his features, and she couldn't help but to feel a little tingly, all of the sudden...

This sometimes happened to her, when Ron was looking really focused on something, - when he seemed all determined and everything...

Like during that time in third year, when he was researching juridical stuff in order to help Hagrid to save Buckbeak's life; or during the Triwizard Tournament last year, when Harry's struggles to find a solution for the second task had led the three of them to the library at all hours of the day (which was rather unusual for Harry and Ron, at least)... There just was something interesting about Ron adopting such an intense expression, and although she would never, ever, in a million years admit it to someone, it... - kind of turned her on.

But before she could even really think those words, she already felt the blood rushing to her cheeks like an owl to its owner, so she got rid of her overly inapropriate thoughts as fast as possible by going over her last Arithmetic essay in her head. Her usual solution for moments like this. It worked. After about twenty seconds, she lightly cleared her throat, and Ron looked up. He seemed a little red around the nose (and ears), all of the sudden.

"Oh", he said, "hey."

"Everything okay, Ron?", she asked, dropping to the floor and taking a sponge out of the bucket next to him.

"Er,.. yeah, sure!...Got a little lost in thought there.", he smiled, fidgety scratching the back of his neck for a moment before passing a bar of soap to her. "You really want to help me with this? You heard Mum, you don't need to, necessarily. Although I really don't have a clue how I'm supposed to make these tiles look less like something someone threw up on, at this point..."

Hermione eyed the room scrutinisingly, and then pulled all magic cleanser bottles towards her, reading the tallies on the back...

"You tried all of these?"

"Yup, but nothing really works. Dad said, there might have been another kind of sticking charm used in here, you know? Perhaps, there was some fancy carpet inhere, that later got removed, somehow, and all this grey mud might be what's left of the glue..."

"Could be...", Hermione murmured, pondering. "Hey, since we're already doing this the Muggle way, can I try something?"

"Er, okay", Ron agreed, looking curious, and she sneaked downstairs into the kitchen, reappearing with a bowl filled with a clear fluid a minute later.

"The tap here works, still, you know?"

"Oh, that's no water, Ron, that's vinegar! I just thought that, perhaps...", she drifted of, dipping her sponge into the bowl, and slowly applying it to the dirty floor...- which immediately lost some of it's dirt and grey spots, "...- this might work.", she concluded, looking up at him triumphantly, as well as a little smugly.

He gazed at her disbelievingly. "How did you do that?! I was scrubbing the same freaking spot for hours, yesterday, and nothing happened!"

"It's a popular, old household trick among Muggles. The thing is, - though most wizards and witches don't know, - it also works against... well..-"

"Sticking charms?"

"House-elf pee."

"WHAT?!", Ron shrieked, immediately pulling his hands back from the top of floor, its surface mostly still tinged with grey. "House-elf pee?!"

"And other excrement, yes.", Hermione explained, calmly, although she felt the corners of her mouth twitch.

"Ginny told me about the old, slightly confused house-elf who lives inhere, and since I've read so much about their anatomy for S.P.E.W., last year, I know that a house-elf's excretion can unleash a certain sticky, grey acid when in contact with specific surfaces, even after the stuff itself is removed.", she shrugged. "I don't know the exact reason, but vinegar helps."

She continued to rub the fluid on top of the tiles, until noticing that Ron was still staring at her as though she was crazy.

"What?"

"WHY would you look something like that up?!", he breathed, still in shock.

" Well", Hermione answered, "To get some background knowledge."

"You need background knowledge about something like this for S.P.E.W.?"

"Hey", she beamed, looking at him in surprise, "You used the formal name!"

Ron hesitated for a moment, probably just realising that he, in fact, had, before snickering and grabbing a cleaning rag soaked with vinegar on his own.

"Okay, perhaps. But I wouldn't get too used to it, honestly. An organisation where you have to research things like this definitely isn't everyone's cup of tea, Hermione."

For a second, she honestly considered to start a row with him, mostly just for the sake of telling him about all her interesting, accurately gleaned arguments about the topic.

But she could wait a little longer for another row with him, and right now, she was pretty contented to just sit there together and rid the floor of its disgusting little blemishes. And, really, she felt home.


	7. Chapter 7

**_Sparkles of_ Row _mance_**

 _(Ron)_

It had been three days, since Hermione's arrival, and Ron couldn't help but to feel contented to have her with him again.

\- Er, _them_. To have her with _them_ again.

Sure, they hadn't really had much time to do anything fun, yet; there was neither the necessary remoteness for a game like Quidditch, - here in a huge city filled with Muggles, - nor the opportunity to spend their time playing chess or exploding snap all day, - with a house as dirty as this and a mother as eager to make them clean it all up, as his, - but it still made a difference that Hermione was there.

In a good way.

And no, not only with the cleaning part, although her help with the mysterious grey mud in the bathroom above had been really useful. Without her, Ron might have spend even more time in that room, effortlessly trying to rid the floor of something that turned out to be the most disgusting thing ever!

(Well, not exactly, Ron pondered; he had seen far more disgusting things in his life than house-elf pee. Most of those being spiders, but that wasn't really the point. )

Afterwards, she'd held Ron a little speech on Kreacher's assumable loneliness and innocent confusion, and had passionately complained about the suppression of his species, which – at least from her point of view – must have led to Kreacher's faults and effronteries, in the first place. And then she'd begged (or rather: threatened) Ron to not tell anyone else in Grimmauld Place about the origin of the grey dirt, or else she wouldn't help him with anything – school-wise or otherwise – ever again. She apparently still hoped to find a few supporters of S.P.E.W among the order members, and didn't want people to take the fight against House-elf slavery less serious. Right, as if that would be possible!

Meanwhile, that little demon, Kreacher, had told the portrait of Sirius' mother about Hermione's blood status, and the painting had become more horrible than ever.

How did Kreacher even find out about her being Muggle-born?

His parents must have mentioned it to someone from the Order. Or perhaps, Snape had let something drop, while being here on one of his dreadfully embarrassing little visits. Yeah, Ron considered, angrily, that would fit that greasy-haired git, now, wouldn't it? Really, why was he even in the order, while being head of the House Slytherin? Something about that just seemed weird, right?

Oh, sure, because Dumbledore trusted Snape. Well, even Dumbledore was bound to make mistakes, now and again, right? He was only human! Perhaps, he had a wrong picture of Snape, despite being a genius!

Snape never defended Hermione, when people like Malfoy and his cronies were making fun of her teeth or her ambition or her hair, and stuff. Alright, he never defended anyone of their house against these idiots, anyway, but still, it was _especially_ unfair, when he was unfair towards Hermione, for some reason.

Because, really, if there was anyone who deserved to be liked by teachers, it really was her; she was the ideal model student if there ever was one, and most teachers got this. They got this to an annoying degree, actually.

But when her teeth had been painfully and mortifyingly enlarged, last year, as a result to Malfoy's stupidity, do you think Snape would have done something in order to help a suffering student? No, he hadn't! In fact, he'd made fun of her in front of everyone! Because he was just a mean, disgusting person, that Snape, and someone like that didn't belong here, in the Order, being trusted and being involved in things that _they_ "were still too young for", apparently, and that was just not..-

"What are you thinking about, Ron?", she asked, in that instant, and as he turned halfway to his left he saw her raise an amused eyebrow, a few feet away from him. And her teeth were still looking kind of unusual, from that angle, even though they were smaller and straighter now and biting down on her relaxedly bent bottom lip in (what might be) the most normal and most erotic way in which he'd seen her do that so far.

"Er, what?", he muttered, dumbly. Hermione's grin widened, ever so slightly.

"I asked you what you're thinking about, Ron!", she laughed, leaning against the same wall he currently was supposed to repair, and eyeing the still damaged timber blocking in front of him.

"You seem to have this weird new habit, Ron, where you just stand motionless in front of walls for several minutes, did you notice that?", she commented, as Ron tried, to get his senses back together. "It's pretty scary, actually, you tend to look like a somnambulist, you know?"

Ron joined in with her laughter, noticing how her eyes crinkled and how her messy hair danced around her head, and all of the sudden, he felt the overwhelming impulse to grab her by her delicate, T-shirt-covered shoulders, and press her against the very same wall they were talking about.

He'd put one hand on her hips and bury the other one in her hair, and her eyes would blink up at him in pleased surprise and would basically overflow with desire, until they would close on their own accord. Her lips would taste like chocolate, somehow, - really great, delicious chocolate like the one sold in Honeydukes, the one that matched her eye colour so beautifully, - and she'd open those wonderful, warm lips to sigh right _into_ his mouth, then, and then he'd...-

"Ron?", she asked, waving with her hand in front of his eyes, this time, and he whirled back around to his side. Real-life-Hermione looked slightly annoyed and absolutely unwilling to snog with him. "You did it again, just now! You turned towards the wall and stared at it like someone was hanging up the Mona-Lisa there, or something!"

"Who's Mona-Lisa?", he asked, bewilderedly, but Hermione ignored this.

"Ron, really, you seem to be lacking in concentration currently, is everything alright?", she wondered, sounding honestly worried, now. Ron felt a rush of affection towards her, but couldn't help but to react gruffly, all the same, for some reason.

"What are you even talking about, Hermione?", he snarled, angrily. "Look, is this about our OWL-year, or something?"

"What?"

"You're probably trying to tell me that I better get my grip together, or else my grades will go to pot this year, right?"

"Ron, that's not what I meant at all! Stop putting such nonsense into my mouth! I wasn't talking about grades here, I just thought...-"

"Good! Because grades really aren't everything, alright?"

"I never said that they were!"

"Well, sometimes, you seem to think that way, Hermione, and you should keep in mind that not everyone is like that!", he commented, crossly.

"Like what?", she snapped, shooting daggers at him with her eyes. Why was he always getting himself into these kind of conversations, when it came to her?

"Like, obsessed with learning, and everything!"

"It's not like that's a bad thing! And I'm not _obsessed_ with anything, I'm just more ambitious than you are most of the time! Which really isn't that much of a challenge, by the way!"

"Oh, so you're admitting, that you think my grades will go to pot, this year!", he accused her, feeling angrily triumphant, at the thought.

"No! I'm admitting that I think you're behaving kind of weird at the moment, is all!"

"Says the person who spends her holidays memorising each and every page of our herbology dictionary!"

"Well, if you're having so much of a problem with the way I spend my holidays, you probably shouldn't invite me to spend them with you, Ron."

There was a moment of silence, their angry faces suddenly seeming not as far apart, as before, and their eyes remained locked on each other in mutual anger. He was pretty sure his ears had adopted the usual burning red, and her hands rested furiously on her hips. Right there, were he'd imagined his own ones to be, a few minutes ago in that pathetic little daydream...

And then, they were laughing.

He'd probably cracked up first, he contemplated in hindsight, but he couldn't be exactly sure. The situation had been too funny to really pay attention to why it was funny, and as their laughter abated, they simultaneously slid down the wall, sitting a foot apart from each other on the dusty floor.

Another silence spread for a moment between them – a peaceful, relaxed one, filled with thoughts. Finally, she chuckled.

"Ron, I sometimes don't really know what's going on, when we're bickering."

"I know, right?", he snickered, sidelong glancing at her. "It's pretty arduous, sometimes."

"I don't think that you'll have trouble with the OWLs, you know? That is, if you learn enough..", she mumbled, uncomfortably, and Ron noticed her blushing slightly. He laughed.

"Thanks. And, erm, Hermione... It's actually quite nice that you're here. At Grimmauld Place, I mean."

"Thanks, Ron.", she smiled warmly, before looking around the dishevelled room.

"Hey, I think we should get back to work, or else your Mum will wonder what we did all day inhere! The room still looks awful!"

She grinned, standing up, and full of beans she grabbed the next best hammer to repair another spot of timber blocking on the wall. Ron rose off the floor, as well, turned around and found himself in front of the same wall as before, once again. His thoughts were lingering on something she'd just said... On other things, that they could just as well be doing inhere, all alone for another few hours, perhaps...

Okay.

So, a part of him knew the reason they were bickering so often. And why things were getting more and more ridiculous and intense, the older they got and the longer they knew each other... At least, there was a theory on it. There existed a corner in the back of his head, solely reserved for thoughts on this topic, thoughts on her, thoughts on them. Thoughts on the Yule Ball and thoughts on how she might look naked. Now and then, he did realise that he was a pubescent, randy little git with an enormous and embarrassing fascination for his very own best friend, and now and then, he even was optimistic or crazy enough to believe, that she reciprocated these feelings, somehow...

The thing was, now-and-thens weren't really enough to push aside all the other things he knew and didn't knew; didn't really wash out the fact that an indispensable friendship was at risk, if he'd ever really let these now-and-thens rule his mind and heart entirely...

It was easier to fight with her. It was _fun_ to fight with her.

So for now, he'd do just that. And he'd enjoy every minute of it, in a way.

* * *

 _( **Author's note:** Hey! :) Thanks for reading, and thanks for all the positive feedback! You really make me happy :)_

 _Since this is a canon-compliant, I was a little worried about Ron having such concrete thoughts on his relationship with Hermione in the beginning of their fifth year, already. But now, that I wrote it, it didn't really feel too soon for that, and I hope you agree. I think it's realistic for him to have SOME concious thoughts and daydreams about what could be, even then, right?_

 _I'm also hoping this isn't getting boring, I promise there will be a bit more plot in the next chapters. :) Bye! )_


	8. Chapter 8

**_Time for contemplation_**

 _(Hermione)_

"Ron, I really don't know how to do this any more", she sighed, turning around on the creaking wooden chair and looking towards him. He lay on his bed, relaxedly eyeing her over the brim of a comic with moving cartoon characters on the cover, and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Huh?"

"I mean, seriously. Don't you sometimes feel weird about what we're doing?"

Ron's eyebrows almost vanished underneath flaming red hair, at this point. "Huh?", he repeated, quietly, and Hermione sighed again.

"Aren't you wondering what Harry might think of us? It will be so weird for him, if we're continuing to behave this way, won't it be?..."

Ron didn't say anything, he just kept staring at her, and she met his gaze.

"What?", she asked, confusedly, meeting his eyes.

She noticed him gulping, then, his face looking oddly pale, below the freckles...

"So,... you think there's something going on... here..., too?", he asked, wearing an awkwardly unreadable expression. What was up with him?

"Huh?", Hermione murmured, realising just then that she was dumbly echoing Ron's previous words. A quick grin appeared on his features, before vanishing again to leave the oddly pale awkwardness there, again.

"Of course there is something happening here, Ron!", Hermione exclaimed, laughing.

"You-... you feel that way?"

Hermione shook her head, irritatedly.

"Ron, what are you talking about?"

"What are YOU talking about?!"

"Well, I'm talking about the fact that the constant secretiveness in our letters might give Harry the feeling of being excluded, don't you think?" She looked at the piece of paper on the table once again, frustrated by its subtle little riddles. Then she turned around again, to watch him curiously. "Anyway, what did you think I was talking about?"

"Oh, nothing. Just,... like you said, the letters must make Harry feel really confused.."

It was Hermione's time to raise her eyebrows, but Ron was already disappearing behind the pages of his comic, once again. The tips of his ears had adopted a glowing red, nonetheless, as Hermione briefly noticed...

Huh.

 _Well, anyway_ , she thought, focusing her attention back on her letter to Harry, once more. She'd already tried really hard to make her spelling style more interesting, leaving as little as possible out and concentrating mainly on topics where she didn't need to censor all that much, in order to make the whole thing sound more normal, in a way,- she wasn't sure, whether she was succeeding or not, though.

She really wanted to make the letter sound especially nice, this time, since it was the one for his birthday, but somehow, Hermione still found the results of her efforts rather miserable.

So far, she'd spent about seven inches of the paper to describe Crookshanks' new tendency to nibble at table cloths he liked, and how adorable, - if a little unhygienic,- that looked.

Then, Hermione had talked about her decision to reread her old favourite childhood books, once again, and had mentioned that _a few_ of her former heroes and heroines weren't quite as perfect as she'd thought them to be, as a child,- which was, why she didn't regret her later-adopted tendency to focus on school books, primarily. This section of her letter took another three or four inches of the paper.

Lastly, she had told Harry about how Ron, and Ginny, and the twins, and everyone else was doing, and how everyone of them wanted to have him with them soon, and how they all were fond of him and wanted him to have a nice birthday, despite the circumstances. She told him that he really didn't need to feel excluded, and that he really wasn't missing out on all that much. And she told him, that she was sorry for his uncomfortable situation.

Hermione looked down on the piece of parchment again, eyeing the tidily applied ink and the meaning it contained. Then, she sighed, once again.

"It's probably way too obvious, now, isn't it?", she murmured. "Harry will probably feel even more excluded by reading all that everyday-stuff. He'll notice that I'm just trying to keep his attention away from all the important things he isn't allowed to know!"

Hermione shook her head, pushing the parchment aside and dipping her quill into the ink bottle again, to start a new letter. She didn't look up to see Ron's reaction to her words. He was behaving a little odd, lately, as it was.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _Hi, it's Hermione, once again! So, as you already know, I can't really tell you anything new or important, but Ron and I are really sorry for that. Harry, I promise that you'll be up-to-date with everything pretty soon (well, at least as up-to-date as we are, which isn't really that up-to-date, actually). Anyway, I hope you have a wonderful birthday! Don't let the Dursleys ruin it, once again!_

 _We'll see each other soon._

 _Love,_

 _Hermione_

She put the tiny cork on the ink bottle's head when she was done, not quite happy with her second attempt to write Harry a birthday letter, either. Well, she contemplated, at least, this one didn't contain any unnecessary information.

It really wasn't important to Harry, right now, how Crookshanks was doing, or what kind of books she read, was it?

Harry had ended his last school term by watching the murderer of his parents come to life again, and by clutching You-know-who's latest victim to his chest in front of hundreds of people. Harry wanted to participate in something useful, just like she had been eager to. But instead, he was sitting in a tiny room, inside the house of his horrible relatives, and was for some reason denied to join his best friends, at least. It really was unfair. Trying to abstract him from that by talking about her cat or her recent reading habits was bound so be useless.

She opened an envelope, carefully folding the new letter, and starting to put it inside.

"What about the other one?", Ron asked, from behind her, and as she turned around on her chair, again, Hermione met his curious, if not slightly concerned gaze. He sat with his head and back leaned against the bed's headboard, his comic laying forgottenly in his lap, and Hermione wondered how long he'd watched her already.

After a second, she shrugged.

"It was stupid."

He raised one of his eyebrows, again, amusedly this time. What was it with the damned eyebrows today?

"A letter written by Hermione Jean Granger herself can't be all that stupid, can it?", he grinned, talking in a funnily reasonable voice.

She laughed. "How do you even know my middle name, Ron?", she snickered.

"Don't try changing the subject, Hermione Jean, or else you only make yourself look more suspicious!", Ron scolded her in irony, and she only laughed harder. The corners of Ron's mouth twitched, happily.

"Suspicious of what?"

"Oh, I don't know. False modesty, perhaps?"

Ron moved towards the edge of his bed, at this, sitting up and reaching for her letter, wearing a slightly more serious expression now. "Come on, what's wrong with your first letter? It's much longer than the other one, that's good, right?"

Hermione shook her head. "I actually think Harry won't like it if it's longer, Ron. At least not, if it's filled with only unimportant information."

Ron said nothing, his eyes silently following the many lines she'd written down on the first piece of parchment. She watched him reading,- excited, whenever his mouth would twitch up in a smile, and nervous, whenever his face would adopt a more thoughtful expression again. When Ron was finished, he silently grabbed her second, much shorter letter, and read that one, too.

Afterwards, he looked up at her again, grinning.

"I don't know why you're worrying, Hermione. The first one's nice, what are you on about?"

"But it's filled with unimportant-..."

"- Who cares, whether it's "unimportant", Hermione? It's from you, and Harry will be grateful that you took the time to write him something personal! Well, or at least, he should be! We're his best friends, not his personal informants for You-Know-Who-stuff, right?"

Ron laughed again, and this time, Hermione joined in.

"So, you really think I should send him the first letter, not the second?"

"Definitely! Come on, Hermione, it's not like you are all uninteresting!"

At this, she looked down, feeling slightly flushed, and Ron was clearing his throat.

An instant later she was shyly smiling up at him, though.

"Alright, I think I'll send him that one, then. Thanks, Ron! Hey, would you perhaps lend me Pigwidgeon to send it to Harry, tomorrow?"

"Sure", Ron agreed. "Might take him more than one flight, actually, with both of our letters and the chocolate I bought for him from Honeydukes..."

"Wait, you bought Harry chocolate from Honeydukes?", Hermione asked, bewilderedly, "Ron, I bought him Honeydukes' chocolate, too! Did you also buy some on that last Hogsmeade trip, before the third task of the Triwizard, already?"

"What?!", Ron asked, bemusedly. "No, I didn't! I asked Fred and George to pass me some, yesterday, and gave them the money for that. They are always storing some stacks of sweets somewhere. You already bought chocolate for Harry's birthday months ago?"

"Well, it's good to be prepared for important occasions! Also, that stuff is way more durable then Muggle chocolate.", Hermione explained.

"How long does Muggle chocolate last?", Ron wondered.

Hermione beamed. "Actually, Muggle chocolate is really durable, too, Ron. Despite the widespread assumption that chocolate might turn brackish, over time, the slightly bitter taste and the paler colour the product adopts after a long storage is not making it indigestible, in fact...-"

"Wait", Ron interrupted her, grinning, "You are reciting a book right now, aren't you?"

She blushed slightly, at this.

"Let me put it this way: Not all of my book heroes and heroines from childhood turned out to be disappointing."

"Huh?", he commented, once again laughing.

Hermione chuckled. "Well, Ron Bilius: Some of the people who write encyclopaedias are actually pretty awesome. "


	9. Chapter 9

_**Pondering** _

_(Ron)_

* * *

Harry had arrived, a few days ago. And, Merlin, he'd been angry!

All of Hermione's fearful expectations about how he'd probably react to the whole situation had become true. More than true, actually, since Ron had never seen Harry shout like that at someone before. And not at his two very best friends, of all people!

Fortunately, they were together in this whole thing, him and Hermione, - the being-friends-with-Harry-Potter-thing. Because, currently, Harry Potter wasn't really himself. With Cedric's death and the nonsense the Prophet wrote and with being stalked and secluded and everything...- Harry had a lot to deal with, and was therefore in some kind of angry crisis.

Hermione would shoot Ron a certain look, sometimes these days, that made him feel as if they were allies on a complicated mission. And although everything was so messed-up, something about being Hermione's ally was pretty nice.

The idea of being on her side, even if it was about the most unpleasant things, was not just comfortable, it felt necessary. Now and then, at least.

Because she was Hermione and he was Ron, and normally, this caused the two of them to clash with each other in the most ridiculous ways. But he didn't want to bicker with her _all_ the time. Sometimes, worrying about Harry together, or scolding Harry together, or practicing how to talk Harry out of weird plans together, was just as fun. And then, there were moments when there was no Harry and no bickering, whatsoever, but just the two of them. When they would play chess or when she was helping him with a certain essay or homework, late in the evening,- curled up in comfortable commen room chairs and the warmest candle light... Or maybe, even, when they were just talking,- quiet conversations behind library bookshelves, or louder ones, inbetween gulps of pumpkin juice, in the slightly noisy big hall at breakfast...

Ron thoroughly enjoyed being the best friend of "the brightest witch of their age", despite her being obsessed with house-elf-rights and horrible at Quidditch.

So, what do you do, when you have an achingly intense crush on someone like that? On someone who's such a huge part of your life?

Everyone was right there to watch, if he made the wrong move. One slightly conspicuous sentence out of his mouth; one overly enthralled word about her; one wrong glance in her direction, really, could make someone notice the feelings he held for Hermione.

Not the angry or the annoyed or the hilariously amused kind of feelings, that were sometimes connected to things she did or said; the other ones.

Although, mostly, all his many feelings about her mingled. He didn't know what was happening. He wasn't entirely sure if she did, either.

He had felt all this confusion for a while now, had felt his affection for her grow and deepen and spread in so many corners of his life and mind, from the dreams he had at night to boring lessons in class. It was a good thing that Hermione was such an eager student. Every time she put her hand up during a lesson gave him the opportunity to shamelessly stare at her for a few seconds.

You would think that after so many years of knowing her, the mere sight of her was not as interesting any more, but it actually got more and more absorbing, the longer he knew her. There were tiny differences he noticed over time, like the length of her hair or the colour of her skin when the seasons changed. There were dark circles beneath her eyes when she was tired, and a warm glow upon her cheeks, when she was happy. There were angry tears in her eyes when people like Malfoy would make their mean jokes about people like Hagrid, and the most amazing sparkle, when she was talking about things like SPEW. He'd seen a few tiny, almost invisible freckles grazing her face during one summer, and he wondered whether they might come back someday, or not.

Right now, she was sitting there on the coach, just a few metres away from him and Harry. There was a book laying on her lap, gently moving with the abstracted teetering of her fingers, her sock-covered toes were touching the table leg in front of her now and then. Her eyes were running along each line she read in delighted speed, she looked fascinated by..- whatever it was, this time. Hermione Granger really was the only person who could enjoy a school book that much. But then again, she also was the only person who looked so immensely pretty when doing it...

Gee, Weasley, give it a rest!

"Knight to A8!", Harry said, contentedly observing the chessboard in front of them, and turning Ron's attention back to their game. It wasn't much of a distraction, though. Ron could still feel Hermione sitting there, her presence setting warm tingles in the back of his brain, as it sometimes strangely did, and making it all the more important to win, somehow...

It didn't take long for that, though.

"Checkmate!", he smiled, cheekily grinning at Harry a few moves later. He saw Hermione looking up and over to them from the corner of his eye, a part of him being glad that she saw him winning, once again. It wasn't like she hadn't already seen him do so over and over and over again, but it just always made him proud, still. There was this one, unimportant, but still kind of cool thing he could do better than Harry. He deserved _something_ to brag about, didn't he?

"How do you always do that?", Harry complained, confusedly trying to figure out what he should have done, instead. "I really thought there was no possible chance for your king to escape! And then..", he shook his head. Ron laughed.

"Your problem is that you're too spontaneous, Harry. You always wait till the last possible second to make a decision, you need to think further!"

Harry stood up and stretched his tired limbs. It was almost midnight, the three of them being the only ones left in the Black's living room... And if Harry would leave now, and go to bed, then Ron would once again be alone with her...

He hadn't been that a lot, any more, since Harry had arrived. Which really should not bother Ron as much as it apparently did...

He noticed her watching him, in that instant, curiously staring at him over the brim of her book, a few bushy curls falling out of her messy ponytail... She looked back down to her reading, and he averted his eyes as well.

Sometimes this would happen. Weird little sequences of eye contact with her, way too long to ignore, and way too short to make him fully understand them.

Harry hadn't noticed anything, of course.

"Well, I think I'll go to bed, guys. Good night.", he yawned, before grabbing his half-filled cup of now lukewarm tea and making his way up the stairs, quietly.

"What's my problem?", she asked, then, and Ron twitched from the sudden sound of her voice.

"Huh?"

"With playing chess.", she explained, her voice turning slightly quieter and softer. "You said to Harry that he was always too spontaneous and not thinking things really through... I think you might be right with that. So... what's my problem?"

Ron held her gaze again, and for a moment there the warm light from the chimney, the fresh night breeze from the window and her company were the only things he could feel.

He shrugged. "I think you know already..."

She sighed.. "The thing with the over-thinking?"

"Yep."

She stood up and crossed the room, her book laying forgotten behind her on the coach as she sat down on Harry's empty chair. "But I really don't think I'm...-"

"You are. Here, let me show you."

He grabbed the white chess pieces he had already captured from Harry, and set them back down on the board. He was recreating a situation from five minutes ago.

"Okay, so here we are: Harry's remaining pawns are setting my knight at risk, his queen could checkmate my king in three moves, his rook is over here. What would you do, in his case?"

"I think I would...-"

"-I'll tell you what you would do", Ron interrupted her. A slightly smug expression crossed his face as her eyes blinked back up in amused annoyance.

"You would take the castle and use it as a guard against my queen", he put the white rook a few fields closer to himself at this, ".. fearing that you might lose your own queen otherwise. The queen is pretty important to you."

"Well, she is!", Hermione exclaimed, still looking surprised at how well he'd read her thoughts about their hypothetical game. "The queen is the most valuable token here!"

The tiny white queen on the board looked pretty pleased at this.

"But by focusing so much on your queen, you're complicating your way to my king."

"No, I'm not.", Hermione answered, her eyes flashing up to his. "Look at this, there's still the option of taking your king in three moves, I just made everything a little safer, first." She drew an imaginary line across the chess board with her fingers, showing him where she'd move her queen next in order to win.

"Yeah, but what if I do this?", Ron said, moving his own queen amidst her path.

Her eyebrows wrinkled and she bit her lip. "Then I would use my rook and...-"

"Exactly.", Ron commented, and he took her outstretched wrist to draw another imaginary line across the board with her hand. "You'd go all the way around here, in order to get to my king from another angle. You'd make several theoretically logical plans in your head on how to deal with the situation, and while you are thinking so much, I would find a way that's way too easy and plain for you to even consider. And then I'd win."

"That's not..-",she started, but blushed and closed her mouth again, defeated, realising that he was right. His lips twitched up into a lopsided smile. Ron was incredibly good at playing chess, and they both knew it.

"Okay, okay, so perhaps I _am_ lacking the right kind of attitude for this game.", Hermione admitted, and Ron's grin widened. "But one of these days, I'm sure I'll beat you at it, anyway."

"Maybe. If you watch me win for another few hundred times, you might pick something up here and there."

She rolled her eyes, about to go back to her book, when he noticed how one of his thumbs was still grazing her wrist on the table, ever so slightly...

How was it, that sometimes touching her or making her laugh or talking for half an hour to her were the most normal things in the world to him, and then again so flustering, all of the sudden?

Perhaps, she'd noticed it too, his touch, because he would have sworn that there was a light, rosy tint on her cheeks as she went over to the coach, once again. His fingertips felt rather empty, in that moment, but they also sent pleasant tingles down his spine and up to his scalp, somehow.

As they sat there in silence,- Ron organising the gossiping chess-people back into the box; and Hermione reading her book and making unobtrusive remarks on some of the pages with her favourite removable quill,- Ron couldn't help but to think about their implications. About their natural assumption that there were so many other chess games still to come...

 _"One of these days, I'm sure I'll beat you at it"_ , she'd said... How many of these days were there, he wondered? How long would things be the way they were supposed to be?

Not only because of the uncertain times they were living in, but also because of all the childish rows and fights they sometimes had, Ron needed her to say stuff like that, now and then. Optimistic stuff. Optimistic stuff about chess or chocolate frogs or homework... Stuff about them, him and her.

She could be so consumed by all her crazy doubts sometimes. Her perfectionism was making her worry way too much, it always had. It was so nice to be seen as a constant in her life, to know that she didn't question their friendship at all. But then again, why should she?

He must have stared at her again, because at one point, she was holding his eyes again with hers, for a second.

The darkening flames guttered, as the corners of her lips twitched up.

He smiled back.

* * *

 _Author's note:_

 _Hi guys! :) After several weeks, I'm back to writing on this. There's been a LOT of other stuff going on, but now I'll have more time for my fan fic love. ^^ No one agreed to be my Beta on this story, so far, which is why it's still not as good as it could be. I'm still planning on continuing it, nonetheless. I'll try to post a new chapter on this each Friday, for a few weeks. As always, honest comments are my fuel, so tell me what you think, please!_

 _Have a nice day or night, thanks for reading and for support! Bye!_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Regrets**_

 _(Hermione)_

* * *

How much more inappropriate could she possibly have reacted? She felt like a bully, like one of her mean classmates from childhood or like Malfoy and his croonies...

Or maybe not like those people. No, she thought, as she lay in bed and let herself be calmed by Ginny's soft snoring; she hadn't been rude on purpose.

It rather was a Lavender-and-Parvati-type of rudeness; ignorant of her own words.

It was the "Why aren't you spending more time on your looks, Hermione? It could really do you some good, your hair is so weird sometimes!"-form of arrogance.

Normally, _Ron_ was the insensitive one among the two of them.

But it wasn't entirely her fault! Everyone had been surprised to see Ron become a new prefect! The twins and Harry and Ginny and his Mum,...

Hermione gulped and closed her eyes horror stricken as the realisation of this sank in. _Everyone_ had been surprised to see Ron become a new prefect...

He didn't deserve this.

Now that she thought about it, Ron wasn't such a bad choice for Gryffindor's prefect, after all. Harry had been everyone's first guess, with his many talents and achievements and given the special bond he seemed to share with Dumbledore...

But Harry could be so edgy, at the moment; he still hadn't recovered from seeing Cedric die, and he also was so easily distracted, sometimes. Harry was wonderful and smart and a nice friend, but momentarily he was generally testy, and complicated, and still too overwhelmed by the whole situation he now found himself in.

And Ron...

Ron was...

Well..

Why had she been so surprised by him being praised, by him being successful for once?!

 _No_ , she corrected herself, fidgeting again beneath her sheets, not _for once_. Ron was not some kind of loser or idiot! He was...

Well, what exactly _was_ he?

Hermione sighed.

The truth was, that she didn't want to think about this kind of stuff too much. It was so much easier to not concentrate on it. _Look at Ginny_ , she would tell herself, _look at how difficult it has been for her to even_ _be in the same room_ _as Harry,- for years!,- just because she couldn't stop herself from constantly admiring him!_

No, Hermione knew that she couldn't bring herself to a point like that. But, yes, right there in her head were tons and tons of thoughts about Ron, never to be said out loud probably. Well, or at least not right now. In a distant, foggy future, maybe; when they were a little older and when things were... different.. But that was another topic better not to focus on too much.

Basically, Hermione wanted nothing more right now than to have her time-turner back. Just a quick swish of her thumb over tiny metallic wheels, and she would be able to change her behaviour from earlier, to react differently and not have to see that defiant, slightly frustrated expression on his features at the realisation how little faith everyone had in him and his abilities...

Hermione shook her head, ashamed of all of this.

And then she suddenly noticed how the impossible prospect of misusing a time-turner was not really worrying her at all, in this instant.

If she had her time-turner back, right now, she might really do something about that horribly embarrassing moment. She might just erase it. Erase her stupid reaction to something that was so great.

Would she really break international wizard law,- and use an important proof of her favourite teacher's strong trust in her,- just to protect Ron from an uncomfortable situation?

Maybe she would.

Huh.

The thing was that Ron could be so terribly, terribly insecure. She hadn't seen it there, a long time ago, when he had just been that lanky, red-haired boy with freckles and dirt on his nose who happened to be Harry Potter's best friend.

But now, as they were older and since he had become _Ron_ for her, she knew that envy and jealousy and fear of not reaching the same things his many brothers had was setting him under a lot of pressure. A part of her,- a slightly selfish one, too,- was relieved to know about this side of him, to be aware of its existence, because, really, not many people could understand fear of failure better than her. Another, bigger part of her just wanted him to get rid of his insecurities, of his useless fears,- but that part worked closely together with all the unspoken truths about him she hid in her mind, so it also wasn't really a problem she could focus on, right now.

As Ginny snored louder than ever, Hermione left the comfort of her warm blankets and crawled out of bed. Her jumper lay below her feet and she picked it up, before quietly making her way out into the half-lit hallway. Warm night wind reached her through one of the spellbound walls, as her bare feet grazed the stairs.

The kitchen light was still burning, which surprised Hermione a little, but just as she set out to discover Kreacher somewhere, hoping to be able to exchange a few nice words with him, for once, someone silently closed the door behind her.

"You up?", Ron murmured, astounded, and looked at her over the rim of a steaming mug of something that could either be dark tea with a lot of milk or hot chocolate,.. probably the latter.

He sat at the kitchen bench beside the door, wearing his pyjamas, and his hair was adorably tousled from sleep.

Hermione shrugged, grabbing a glass out of one of the drawers and opening the tap to fill it with water. "Can't really sleep, tonight.", she quietly admitted, dropping on top of the bench opposite from him and taking a sip from her glass.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Why not?"

"Don't know.", she quietly answered, not quite meeting his eyes. "Just thinking."

A few silent seconds passed by, faint candle light from the tiny chandelier above illuminating the old room.

"'Bout what?", he wanted to know then, swirling the content of his mug around with a spoon. Yep, definitely hot chocolate.

"Why are you so curious tonight?", Hermione wondered aloud. He laughed, for some reason.

"Am I?"

"Yes, kind of."

"Was just asking you what you're thinking about", he answered, drinking another big gulp from his mug.

She sighed, gently moving her glass around on the table. He eyed her weirdly and then mentioned,

"Nice party, earlier."

"Hm?"

"The party was good.", he explained, pointing at the banner on the kitchen counter, the huge poster with which his mum had decorated the living room for them, earlier that night.

"Oh.", Hermione answered, almost having forgotten about the dinner party, somehow. Although it _had_ been a good party. "You're right. It was so lovely of your mum to have a party for us, Ron. I really can't remember the last time someone organized a real party for me."

"What about birthday parties?", he asked, eyeing her across the big table with a curious expression. The distance between them seemed a little ridiculous for such a quiet conversation way past midnight... She considered moving closer, but something about that made her feel weird, too.

"You mean, when I was little?"

"Yeah, everyone gets a small party for their birthday when they are little, right? That can't just be a wizard thing. I saw a kid getting some kind of paper hat for his birthday, once, when Dad went with us to a muggle restaurant."

She laughed. "Yes, I think I had that sort of party a few times. But still, it's kind of something else when there are so many people there who celebrate you, isn't it? I feel like it's pretty exciting."

"It _is_ pretty exciting.", Ron agreed, and something about the next long sip he took from his drink sounded thoughtful.

"Are you worried?", he muttered, then, nonchalantly, and Hermione lifted her gaze back to his. The lack of light drew unusual lines across his features, but it also made her tummy twist in a strange way.

"About what? Being a prefect?"

"Yep."

She thought about it, for a moment, about the whole range of responsibilities that would await her, and about the fact that _tomorrow_ the new term would start... She suddenly noticed that she really should try to sleep, that she should go back to bed, already,.. but quietly talking to Ron about nothing in particular and taking the tiniest drams of her water felt like the more appealing thing to do, right now.

"Kind of...", she answered, ever so softly, without being totally aware of it. "It's like... this great thing, really, but... So much else is going on, too... The whole summer was about You-Know-Who and fighting and getting new information... and cleaning up", she murmured, and Ron grinned, at this, "But now, other things will seem so important again, and they really are! It just seems so weird, doesn't it?"

"Yeah..", he rasped, and cleared his throat. She noticed that she still had not asked _him_ why he was being up at this time of the night...

"Are you scared?", she wanted to know, her voice tiny and silent, "About being a prefect, I mean?"

Ron met her eyes again before shifting slightly with his chair, its legs scratched over the kitchen floor unpleasantly. Then he shrugged.

"Not really. I mean, it's good that you're there, you'll probably get that.. everything... under control pretty quickly..", she saw him grin at her for a split-second, and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I mean, 'don't know, perhaps... the whole thing could have been.. a mistake, maybe.."

She raised a confused eyebrow at him, but he kept talking to the wooden surface of the table. "Maybe they just send the batch to the wrong person, or something..."

"Ron, are you serious?!", she railed at this, suddenly having raised her voice a little more than she'd intended to, and she quickly lowered her volume as an angry blush made its way into her cheeks. "You can't seriously believe that stuff Fred and George are talking about, can you? That's nonsense! You are definitely the right person for that job, otherwise they wouldn't have send you the batch!"

Ron looked slightly shocked, meeting her irritated glare, but he still managed to bicker back just as annoyedly.

"You didn't seem to have such a clear opinion on that, earlier, either! You wouldn't even believe that I received the batch, and not Harry, for about a whole minute or so!"

She felt the colour of her cheeks increase, once again, but this time in embarrassment.

And maybe it was the shame she'd already felt, earlier, in her bed, or the mere fact that she really _was_ grateful, too, for having Ron be the other new prefect, next to her, instead of Harry, - but Hermione fought back other angry words that might have escaped her mouth, normally, and just blinked her eyes shut for a second while fidgeting her fingers on the tabletop, frustratedly.

"Yes... Sorry about that, Ron.", she muttered, and as she blinked up at him she saw slight confusion and surprise on his face.

"Oh.", he answered, dumbly, rubbing his neck, "It's okay, don't worry, I get it. I mean.. he's _Harry_."

" _Harry Potter_ ", they repeated, together; the way everyone else always did. And then they laughed, quietly.

"Ron... You really deserve to be a prefect. It was an excellent choice.", she told him, because she really wanted him to believe it. "And... I'm glad that I'll get to spend so much extra time with you this year. That could really be fun!" She tried to sound encouraging and happy, and not like she was pitying him.

He probably would manage to think something like that, anyway, after her horrible first reaction...

But the tips of his ears glowed pretty heavily, as he stood up to store his mug in the sink, mumbling a sheepish "Er, thanks.", in her direction.

And when he then faked a yawn and said goodnight, there might have been a pleased little sparkle in his eyes, as well.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Bickering by mutual consent_**

 _(Ron)_

* * *

The overcast grey sky above their heads seemed pretty fitting for the mood Ron currently was in.

First days back in school after the summer holidays normally turned out cool,- Hogwarts being a second home for him, in a way, and everything looking quite exciting after weeks of being gone. But even though they'd just successfully escaped the boring drabness of Grimmauld Place, things back in the castle felt kind of shitty, this year.

There was this weird new teacher from the ministry, first of all, who interrupted Dumbledore's speeches and talked to everyone like they were five-year-olds; and, according to Hermione, that woman being here meant nothing but trouble. Seamus was a git to Harry, not believing that whole thing about You-Know-Who being back, apparently, and openly insulting Harry instead. Other people thought like Seamus, as well, though, and then with the usual Snape-nonsense Harry had to endure, his mood-swings got worse and worse.

Right now, he'd thrown a tantrum at Ron and Hermione for bickering too much (- according to him, that is), and had left the Great Hall angrily, his shepherd's pie still being mostly untouched and his friends feeling slightly shocked.

Harry normally didn't complain all too much about their fights. Actually, he mostly ignored them completely. Ron sometimes wondered when exactly that had happened; when and how Harry had made the willful (or subconscious?) decision to leave his friends be when it came to this stuff. But it was the right thing for Harry to do, to ignore it, Ron felt.

Okay, so maybe he _had_ been a bit tactless, earlier, when Cho Chang had started a conversation with Harry, only to be interrupted by Ron because of her very questionable opinion on a Quidditch team, seconds later. But how was Ron supposed to overlook that huge "Tornados"-badge at the front of her robes? And, more importantly; how was he supposed to overlook Hermione's accusing gaze and words, afterwards? And things like that happened all the time; tiny moments of annoyance between him and Hermione, that would bloom into several minutes of loud rowing, only to be followed by everything being back to normal again. It probably could be a bit boring to watch, Ron considered, but it certainly wasn't boring for him or Hermione.

No, Ron decided, Harry couldn't seriously be angry now, about their fights. It was just part of their friendship, of his and Hermione's, to deal with things this way. Right here, right now, it was merely how they worked.

Ron looked over to her, noticing her flustered face and slightly confused gaze.

"What was _that_?", she muttered, eyes still glued to the door Harry had just left through.

"Dunno... That was Harry being annoyed with us, I s'pose.", he answered, dumbly.

Hermione's eyes blinked back over to him and took on a sheepish expression.

"He normally doesn't have such a big problem with our... rows..., though, does he?", she commented.

He nodded, pushing parts of his lunch around on his plate before eating another fork of it.

"Well, he's just...", Ron began, but didn't really know what he was trying to say, so he dropped the thought again. He was immediately reminded on his dorm mate's,- Dean's,- helpless reaction, this morning, when Seamus had been a buffoon again to Harry, Dean lacking any kind of explanation for his best mate's stupid behaviour.

"He's just in a difficult stage, right now.", Hermione concluded for him, and Ron suddenly felt the most awkward sense gratitude. _We're together in this thing,_ Ron told himself, once again, _We're both Harry Potter's best friends._

And since recently, he and Hermione were prefects together, as well.

Sure, no one got why on earth _Ron_ had been chosen for this task, of all people, and the twins would probably badger him for it all year. But that's how things were, right now, and at least that douche bag Malfoy could not bug Ron any more than _he_ could bug Malfoy in return.

And, yeah, then there was the Hermione stuff, the amount of extra time he would surely spend with her... Controlling empty corridors together, late in the evenings, whenever they had to do their prefect rounds...

Ron cleared his throat, feeling blood rush to his ears and looking up from his plate again in embarrassment. Hermione was eyeing him thoughtfully. Then, she sighed.

"Okay, Ron... I'm sorry."

"You're... huh?", he murmured, confused.

"For starting the bickering. This time it was my fault, probably, and now Harry's angry and.. Well, I'm sorry."

She shrugged and started eating again, taking a tiny bite of a potato and then lowering her fork to the other, tidily cut out pieces on her plate, distractedly. Ron always found it hilarious how much effort she could put in organising her food.

"It wasn't...-", he said, but shook his head. "Look, mostly it's... not really about who starts things, right? We always end up having a go at each other, anyway. "

She twisted a wisp of her her hair, absent-mindedly, apparently thinking about his words.

"What do you mean?", she finally asked, looking slightly sad for some reason, all of the sudden.

"I mean that... Well,... It's not like we don't both _want_ to bicker all the time, is it? It's more like.. waiting for a good opportunity."

She raised her eyebrows, perplex, and then she started laughing. "That's what you think we're doing?", she grinned, still on the brink of laughter, " _Waiting for a good opportunity_ to bicker?"

"Well, yeah.", he agreed, smirking lopsidedly at her. It was kind of fun, really, how quickly he could go from being entirely annoyed with her to being entirely happy around her. But still, the uncomfortable situation with Harry, a few minutes prior, was slightly dragging him down.

Hermione seemed to be feeling the same way, since her eyes became lost in thought again, seconds later. After a few moments filled with delicious baked potatoes, Ron saw her fist curl angrily around the spoon next to her plate, and her brows furrowed when she looked back up.

"It's not our fault that everyone doesn't trust Harry", she stated, angrily. "It's not like we were anything but supportive towards him, these past few weeks! _We_ are the ones who are there for him!"

"Yes, we are!", Ron agreed, suddenly infected by her annoyance at Harry.

"And yes, he's had a rough day, but it's really not like Malfoy and Snape are only ever horrible to _him_ , is it? Really, sometimes I feel like Harry doesn't even notice how much trouble some other people here are going through, as well, like Neville or ...-" She broke off, shaking her head and closing her eyes, slightly embarrassed at her words, it seemed, "I know that's not the same, of course... Harry 's got a lot of horrible problems, and he deserves to be angry about it, I suppose... But I just wish he would stop taking his temper out on us, I mean,...-"

"Yeah, I know.", Ron nodded, not really needing her to explain her thoughts, but sharing them, as it was. She met his eyes, almost shyly, and a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

She gave him a few instructions then, for what to tell Harry later. She obviously and Hermione-ously wanted to let Harry know about her opinion on his behaviour. For once, Ron was pretty keen on doing exactly what Hermione thought was best. She was right about this.

They finished their meal in comfortable chattering, for once not really bothered by worries about their famous, furious best friend, after such a long summer of doing not much else.

When Ron left the Great Hall to make his way to their Divination lesson, he couldn't help but to feel determined to keep feeling this way for a little longer.

It was strange, this new sort of solidarity he seemed to share with Hermione so often, but it was definitely something he didn't want to lose too soon.

Something about this year felt different, he knew.

Some things were rapidly changing.


	12. Chapter 12

**_Flouts And Flaws_**

 _(Hermione)_

* * *

What the heck was his problem, Hermione wondered? What made Ron act like this, sometimes?

First, he hadn't supported her in her struggle against his brothers, who disregarded Hermione's and Ron's prefect authority in each and every way! They were selling extremely experimental, perhaps dangerous sweets to first-graders, and it didn't really seem to bother anyone but her! Everyone just laughed it off, and then there was Ron, - for the first time in his life absolutely capable to bar his brothers way, due to his new function for their school,- but no, obviously, she, -Hermione,- needed to play the hard part again.

She always ended up with the difficult jobs, anyway, didn't she? She always worked and worked and worked, trying her best to reach her goals, and Ron and Harry sometimes just leaned back and enjoyed what her doing offered to them.

 _Hey, Hermione, can you correct this essay for me?_

 _Hey, Hermione, can you help me with this exercise?_

 _Sure_ , she snorted, as _if I didn't know exactly that you two are mostly just too lazy to try to achieve a good grade all by yourselves. You wouldn't need me for this stuff if you actually tried your best._

Ron didn't, that was for sure! Did it ever occur to him that, if he wasn't so intimidated by his older brothers, and if he actually tried to do this prefect thing properly, his life could turn out a whole lot easier?

He hadn't said anything to Fred and George, last night, when they had spread their suspicious candy among little children! But as soon as it was about house elves, as soon as Hermione told him about something good, something useful, something that could really make a positive change on so many lives, Ron suddenly found his passion back. Found a way to make all the effort of her knitting hats for the house-elves in Hogwarts all summer look like a sneaky trick to manipulate them, or something!

And this morning, Ron had actually called her hats "woollen bladders" and mentioned that they "might not count as clothing", therefore.

If she thought about that sentence, now, several hours later and still furious, she needed to stop herself from angrily grinding her teeth together, knowing how scandalised her parents would react if they saw her doing something like that.

She had been so happy before, so proud that her hats had disappeared overnight, and then Ron would just come up and make such a nasty remark!

Okay, so perhaps those hats weren't perfect yet. Admittedly, there was quite a big need of improvement. And perhaps, the mere thought of doing such a thing,- knitting tiny pieces of clothing and hiding them underneath the common room's rubbish at night,- was slightly crazy and embarrassing to begin with.

But at least she was making an effort! At least she tried something to make a step in the right direction! Not that someone like Ron could ever possibly understand such a thing, Hermione added, spiteful. No, Ron Weasley,- the prefect who couldn't even find the guts to talk his brothers out of endangering first-graders,- would not understand her negative feelings about house-elve slavery, of course.

She couldn't look at him, right now, couldn't talk to him and could most definitely not work together with him in class, so she hoped none of their teachers had planned anything like that for today. She had refused to go to the library with them during the lunch break, not really in the mood for listening to Harry's and Ron's moaning and groaning about how much work there was. They would only try to convince her to help them, as it was. She could think of better ways to spend her time. She stayed with Ginny, instead, during her lunch break, and Ginny always seemed to understand Hermione's view on house-elve rights _slightly_ better than Harry and Ron. Well, she was more polite than Ron, at any rate.

The thing with Ginny was, that she could be quite smug sometimes, though.

"... - And I just don't get why he always has to be like that, you know? Why can't he try to see things from my point of view, for once, Ginny?", Hermione complained, her voice having turned into quite an annoyed ramble, at this point.

Ginny wore this almost arrogant, really pretty Ginny-grin on her face, the one that always made Hermione uncomfortable. She'd look as if able to read other people's thoughts, or something...

"What?", Hermione asked, quite insecure, all of the sudden.

"Nothing.", Ginny shrugged, smiling. "I'm just noticing that you tend to be very angry about the fact that you see so much potential in Ron.", she commented.

Hermione's eyes widened in bafflement. "Pardon me?"

"You always want him to be... I don't know... a better Ron, don't you?", Ginny suspected, casually. "You talk about how much he annoys you, and about the things you want him to do differently, but what really makes you dislike this stuff is the fact that you see a whole lot very good stuff in him, right? Like... like with me and, well", Ginny cleared her throat lightly, "..Harry?"

Hermione couldn't help but to cluck her tongue in annoyance. Again with the Harry comparisons! "You mean with you and, well", Hermione repeated, and then cleared her throat the way Ginny just had, for effect, "Michael?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, come off it, you know what I mean! Sometimes, it's like you are just a little too focused on Ron, and not just because he's behaving stupid, is all."

Hermione wasn't entirely sure how she felt about this statement, so she let the matter rest in her head until the little bell on her watch told her to head out to their next lesson, two seconds later.

"Stop grinning at me!", she muttered in her friends direction, as Ginny's lips twitched in silent laughter, and then she was outside, quietly walking towards Hagrid's shed and avoiding bypassing classmates.

It wasn't a new thought, really. Hermione knew that she should just stop being so damn aware of her best friend. She would notice a certain thing he said or did, and then she would get angry and start a fight with him, and he would do the same thing when it came to her, - over and over again,- and it just seemed to get worse with time but... strangely better, too. It was not boring to fight with Ron, to say the least. She would get so, so mad at him, at times. He could make her furious, and he surely shared the same view on her. But that was the point, wasn't it?

She could make him _so_ angry one minute, and, a couple minutes or hours later, everything was back to normal... They were still friends, still a constant part of each others lives, no matter how much they bickered... And something about this whole thing gave Hermione the weirdest feeling of safety. It was stupid to think like that, wasn't it? But it was true. Knowing that all her rows with Ron were meaningless in the long run, was intoxicating.

Right here, right now, she was still annoyed at him, but she could already feel her anger lessen. So what, if he had called her carefully knitted hats "woollen bladders". They _did_ count as clothing, after all, or otherwise they wouldn't have disappeared, Hermione decided. Ron's fault, if he didn't agree on her view on house-elve rights. (History would surely prove him wrong, in a few years, like it would so many other people. )

And although it was slightly nerve-wracking to let herself be tutored by Ginny in such a way, (while it was normally one-hundred percent Hermione's job to do so, when it came to Ginny's secret little Harry-obsession), it had been the right thing to talk to her.

And when Ron's fingers clenched into a tight fist, during their lesson of Care of Magical Creatures, after watching Malfoy make fun of her again, Hermione couldn't help but to feel grateful warmth spread inside her chest. Woollen bladders and potentially poisonous sweets long forgotten.

* * *

 _A.N.: Sorry for being a little late this week, next chapter will be on time. :) Next: Ron and Hermione's first prefect round. More Ginny/Hermione conversations to come, too. Thoughts?_

 _Thanks as always to notsing and banzi for leaving me so many reviews, haha! :D _

_Bye!_


	13. Chapter 13

**_Delightful duties_**

 _(Ron)_

* * *

He'd almost tried to talk himself out of doing this, over summer, just because a tiny, pathetic part of himself had feared that he was mostly doing it to impress Hermione.

But he wasn't.

No, Quidditch had always been one of the coolest things in the world; he'd always dreamed of being a real part of it, - and yes, of being admired for it. Not just by her! By everyone.

There was no way in hell he could ever reach his older brothers fantastic reputation, but still, there was a tiny spark of hope in Ron's chest that made him yearn for at least a fraction of that talent.

And maybe, even that was too much to ask for...

He hadn't dared telling Harry about it, so far, or – Merlin beware,- her. Somehow, he wanted to be really sure about the whole thing first before actually telling people. He'd sneak out to the Quidditch pitch, in the evening, hoping that the cloudy, cold weather they momentarily endured would prevent others from doing the same.

Practising his Quidditch abilities all alone was kind of difficult, and truly rather frustrating.

He was pretty sure that Hermione or even the twins could have helped him with some brilliant, useful spell for this kind of situation, the minute he'd ask them, but he obviously wasn't about to actually consider it.

No, this was something he needed to figure out for himself. He needed to practise, get as good as possible at being a keeper, and then he might make it into the team. Hopefully. Maybe.

And no, that wasn't about Victor bloody Krum, although Ron definitely wondered often enough what Hermione had seen in him, last year, if not him being great at Quidditch... Because, really, what had that git to offer, otherwise, that Ron hadn't?

Well, whatever it was, he remembered with a grin, it apparently hadn't been cool enough to make Hermione spend the summer in Bulgaria. No, she'd cleaned an old building with Ron, instead of visiting that arrogant twit. Thank Merlin...

Perhaps, there was a way he could get another half an hour of his secret Quidditch practise in, today, Ron suddenly realised. That was, if prefect rounds would not take too long.

How long were prefect rounds actually supposed to take, he wondered?

He hadn't asked anyone, really. Hermione probably had, though... And she probably would insist on spending some extra time on the whole thing, too, in order to do an especially great job. Ron sighed, and could barely refrain from rolling his eyes, even being all alone in the boys dorm and about something she hadn't even said yet.

Lately, his relationship with Hermione was more complicated and confusing than ever. But he couldn't really focus on that, now, or things would only end up even more difficult.

He took a clean, maroon sock out of his trunk and polished his prefect batch with it. His robes felt so much heavier, this year, with that thing on them, although Ron technically knew that the tiny, goldenly red object could not weigh more than even an additional quill might have.

He made his way downstairs to the common room, and there she sat, surrounded by tons of heavy books and a few knitting needles working quietly in the air in front of her, while her eyes rushed along rustling pages... In that instant, she looked so obviously _Hermione_ that Ron could barely contain his laughter.

"What?", she asked, confused, as she noticed him standing there with a grin.

"Nothing", he shrugged, sinking into the couch cushions next to her and observing her many books. "One day, Madame Pince won't let you into the library any more, you know? With you always emptying half of the shelves..."

She snorted. "Oh, sure, because there is such an obvious lack of books in Hogwarts..."

"Well, maybe not right now, but if you keep borrowing stuff in a way like that, she might actually set up a limit at one point... And then you can only borrow twenty or thirty books at a time, can you imagine that?" He faked a terrified gasp and watched Hermione roll her eyes, laughing.

"You know, I actually think Madame Pince kind of likes me", Hermione told him a few minutes later, as they made their way out into the slowly darkening corridor, to start their first evening of prefect rounds. It was only September, still, but the last couple of days had been windy, and the sky outside their tower was quickly clouded by what might be an approaching thunderstorm.

"I never ate something in the library, I always hand my books back in in time,..-"

"And you're mostly spending time in the library for reading, too, unlike other people.", Ron added, thinking of the girls he'd seen there, last year, who had constantly been trying to get Krum's attention by following the douche bag's every step. (Why was that idiot in so many of Ron's thoughts today, by the way?)

To Hermione's sheer annoyance, the same type of girls was still using the library for things like chatting and gossiping, Ron knew. Girls like Cho Chang and her friends, actually, or like Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil.

"Oh, don't get me started on _that_!", Hermione groaned, hating it when people took her supposedly favourite place in the world for granted. She had once mentioned to him how the library felt like a save haven to her, a room reserved for thinking and reading and for getting lost in work and curiosity...

Ron was about to mention that it didn't really seem to matter, because even if the library was unavailable, Hermione would surely always find a place to read. But he didn't want to get started on the whole _"Is it weird or is it perfectly normal to read school books in your bed?"_ -discussion, once again. So he just let the matter drop and shook his head, fondly.

They'd crossed a few staircases, checked in on some of the empty classrooms,- proving them to actually be empty, - and had patrolled quite a few dark corridors before the realisation of just how alone they were, right now, really hit Ron.

The awareness of him being a pubescent teenager with an obvious (or hopefully not so obvious) crush on the girl he was currently in an isolated hall with, was pretty terrifying.

But then again, this wasn't anyone. This was Hermione. And perhaps, that made some things more tough or complex... But not _this_. He could just continue to talk normally with her, joke around with her, even bicker with her, if he had to... There was no need for awkwardness, now, because he already knew her so well, and because they spend tons of time alone together, as it was...

So,... Why the hell did it feel so awkward, now, still?

He glanced at her, sideways, and she didn't meet his gaze. There was just that faint, rosy blush across her cheeks, as she stared right ahead, that told Ron she'd noticed some change in the atmosphere, too. She'd always looked adorable when she blushed.

Over the weeks of last summer, or secluded in the common room, late at night, these past few years... Being alone with her had often felt slightly more exciting than it should have, and if only for a weird few seconds in between usual conversations.

But it had been easy to remind himself on other people, back than, - on the fact that his parents or his siblings or Harry and everyone else was just over there in the next room, and that being alone with her could end at any second. Which made it somehow less terrifying and all the more important to be alone with her for another minute, another hour, maybe...

Ron knew that there was no one else here, right now. He could pretend to hear footsteps or concentrate on the slim possibility of someone crossing their way, around the next corner, if he really wished... But it was past bed time, and the castle was huge. And it was so very quiet, right here, in this corridor, - in this poorly lit, heavenly deserted corridor..

Who cared about things like practising Quidditch, now, when she was so near and so gorgeously blushing, and when the strands of her tell-tale, amazing hair were grazing her shiny prefect batch like that? She'd probably never polish it with one of her socks, that prefect batch, and she could not possibly ever have received it for the same, mysterious reasons as he had received his, but... Here they were, together.

A ridiculous, - yes, definitely ridiculous,- idea had sneaked into Ron's head, already, a few times... What if someone,- Dumbledore; McGonnagal, or whoever else was able to influence the whole prefect-decision, - had wanted to make him and Hermione do this together because.., well, because of his feelings for her?

What if Dumbledore knew way more about his students than commonly known? Hadn't he told Harry in first year already, that he, Dumbledore, didn't need an invisibility cloak to be invisible? _If I had the ability to be invisible whenever I like, I'd probably spy on a few people, too_ , Ron thought... But then again, he was just some teenager, and not the greatest wizard of all time. And the mere idea that the greatest wizard of all time made decisions based on some teenager's love life was so utterly ludicrous, if Ron was being honest, that it wasn't even funny any more.

"Why are you so quiet?", Hermione suddenly wanted to know, in that instant. Her voice was soft, quietly reverberating with the walls. Ron cleared his throat, somehow feeling exposed. "Am I?"

She nodded, her teeth gently grazing her mouth, and looked up and down the corridor, again. He really wished he hadn't noticed her biting her lip, right then..

"Well, it's late. I'm kind of tired.", he answered, shrugging, just to distract himself from staring at her way too openly...

"We don't have to do this for much longer, you know? We could just hurry a little and be back in the common room in ten minutes, if you really want to.", she offered, and he could not tell in the slightest whether she was annoyed at him, now, or not.

"Oh, no, it's okay. I know you probably want to do this for as long as possible, don't you?"

"I.. what?", she murmured, astonished.

"You probably want to do a perfect job at this, don't you? Checking all the rooms twice, looking in all broom chambers, and stuff like that? Or..", Ron considered, pondering, "Do you want to get back as fast as possible, to finish that potions essay we have to hand in next week, or something?"

Hermione glared at him, for some reason.

"Oh, sure, Ron, because all my life is about school, now, isn't it?"

"Huh?", Ron answered, raising an eyebrow and feeling the tiniest notch of anger rise up in him. She could push his buttons so easily..

"Oh, forget it.", she mumbled, angrily, and stomped a few feet ahead of him, quickening her pace. Before he could really think about it, Ron had grasped her wrist between his forefinger and thumb, distractedly marvelling at how soft and warm and _small_ it felt in his hand...

"Wait, what?", he groaned, frustrated by their enormous ability to misunderstand each other, occasionally. Her eyes widened a little, momentarily flashing down to his hand on her, and it was only as he loosened his tight grip that he noticed how closely he'd pulled her to him, as well, in the process of reaching for her. She had to tilt her head up pretty high, to meet his gaze, standing apart from him in a distance that a pile of maybe three or four of her favourite, big library books could have crossed.

Somehow, she wasn't stepping away from him, though.

She just stood there, blinking up at him, and a small smile grazed her indeed rather bitable looking lips as she finally answered, calmly: "Actually, yes, I'd like to do a good job at this and check all the corridors twice, Ron. Only tonight, because it's the first time, and everything... Is that okay?"

He laughed, at that, still confused and not knowing what had changed. But when he nodded, he noticed his breath graze her lashes, making them flutter, slightly... Bloody hell.

"Okay.", he agreed, voice weirdly raspy, and just before she stepped away to finish their extra-long, especially thorough first evening of prefect rounds, she flashed him this infectious, slightly apologetic smile...

He would make sure not to have time for practising Quidditch, tonight.

Just this once...

* * *

 _ **A.N:** Hi guys! Thanks as always for reading and support! :)_

 _(Just so you don't get confused with my intentions, after last chapter: Let me assure you that I completely adore Hermione. Mostly, I'm not trying to point out what makes her annoying, but what annoys her. I think most of her especcially bossy or intrusive phases are caused by her idealism (/ puberty / sexual tension) and are something that I can most definitely forgive. All main HP characters have obvious flaws, that's what makes the story so relatable to begin with, to me. :3)_

 _Next: Dumbledore's Army begins! :D_


	14. Chapter 14

**_Prefect Rounds (once again)_**

 _(Hermione)_

The sixth evening of her and Ron's prefect rounds was elected to serve not only their usual, school-concerning tasks, but also to talk to a few people about their new secret plan. Their very own Defence against the Dark Arts - project.

Or rather, _her_ very own Defence against the Dark Arts – project, come to think of it.

Ron wasn't really keen on labelling the whole thing as _their_ idea, now that Harry had thrown such a tantrum at them, the first evening she'd suggested it. Nevertheless, Ron agreed with her, she knew. Harry had done impressive and amazing things already, for someone of their age. And if there was no adult to be found to do a proper job on teaching them some way of magical self-defence, then Harry was their best option.

Tonight, she and Ron had started patrolling the slowly darkening corridors and staircases of the castle way earlier than necessary, when people were still crossing their way every few minutes.

Whenever they met a few classmates who seemed trustworthy, she'd quickly glance at Ron, asking him non-verbally for his view on the matter. Depending on his features, she'd merely carry on and tell people to make their way back into their respective common rooms, please,- or she'd pull them aside, (Ron quickly following next to her,) and would nervously say: "Hey, uh, can we maybe talk to you about something for a minute? It's about Umbridge..."

But now it was way past nine once again, and Hermione doubted that she and Ron would be able to recruit even more people for the whole crazy plan, tonight.

"Doesn't matter really, right?", Ron answered with a lazy sort of grin, when she mentioned this to him, "We already did quite a good job, didn't we?"

Hermione reciprocated his smile, a giddy sort of pride and excitement filling her. "Yes, we did. This whole thing might actually work..."

And then it was quiet again, the soft pattering of their shoes across the flagging the only sound to be heard.

She liked those moments of silence with him.

Currently, prefect rounds were always taking longer than they had to, but somehow neither of them had mentioned it so far... He surely thought she was just interested in doing well as a prefect, but then again, she hadn't suggested for them to split up and look through all the rooms separately, like some of the other prefects apparently did, now, had she?

So maybe, Ron knew that she enjoyed spending all this time with him. Was that a good thing, or should it scare her?

And why was _he_ not in the slightest concerned about the extra time they lost by taking things slow? By being hyper-careful when controlling Hogwarts' deserted hallways at night? Didn't he normally yearn for as much spare time for relaxation and wizard chess and exploding snaps as he could possibly get out of each day?

Perhaps, he liked to spend time with her on their prefect rounds like this as well, Hermione pondered...

Or,- and this sudden thought filled her with the most ugliest sense of embarrassment,- maybe _he_ knew that _she_ liked to spend time with him on their prefect rounds like this, and just didn't want to affront her! Gosh, if that was the reason for his calm, exemplary behaviour, then...-

"You okay?", he asked, waving his hand in front of her face. She barely refrained from gasping.

"Sure, Ron! Just a little lost in thought."

"What kind of thought?", he laughed, curious. His eyes were sparkling. "I think I just saw you cringing!"

She shrugged, smiling lightly while eyeing him smugly. "And what makes you think that me cringing has something to do with what I'm thinking? Maybe I just had a sore muscle, or something."

"Do you?", he asked, sounding politely interested.

"No, actually I don't."

"Then you should really tell me what you're thinking about. Now I'm curious."

"Maybe you could try to be curious about other things than why I'm cringing.", she grinned. "How about that article we read in transformation today? That one was fantastic!"

"You're getting really excited about this whole turning-animals-into-books thing, aren't you?"

"It _is_ pretty exciting.", she mentioned, matter-of-factly, and they both laughed.

"Oh", was his comment, at the same time opening a broom closet "Okay."

She lit her wand and climbed over a few bulky brooms and oversized bottles of magical cleaning agents, pointing the bright tip inside of the tiny room... Sure, that was pretty ridiculous. No one was obviously hiding in here, and what other sort of unusual things were there to be found in a broom closet at this hour? Fred and George weren't reckless enough to hide their illegal humbug that carelessly, either.

But this was just one of her silly little techniques to enlarge their evenings slightly. She should probably stop that, she realised. But hadn't it been he who had opened the door?

As she emerged again, he was looking at her quite intensely, and she could feel her cheeks redden. "What?", she asked, hiding her insecurity behind slight annoyance.

A picture flashed through her mind though, ever so quickly, the weirdest wish for him to open that broom closet again, and to pull her in with him...

They might stumble over some cleaning articles in the dark, but he'd just press her against him...

Trap her against the wall..

Reaching for her face to lower his own to her lips...

Crushing them with his...

Hot breath on her skin and his fingers loosening her robes and...

She blinked a few times, recovering from a sudden wave of heat.

"Sorry, what?", she repeated, dumbly, and this time she didn't sound annoyed any more, despite trying. She just sounded stupid.

"I didn't say anything.", Ron muttered, a bewildered smile tugging the corners of his mouth up. That instant, the door at the other side of the hallway opened, revealing a busy looking Professor Grubbly-Plank. Nodding shortly in their direction, the Professor made her way through the corridor and disappeared again behind them through the door at the other end of it. So much for the illusion of being isolated inhere with Ron, Hermione thought... Really, they were not that alone at all. Stuff like this could happen all the time, students and teachers could cross their way constantly, no matter how late or early it was.

Which was good. Concentrating on this simple fact took some of the light-headedness away that Ron recently seemed to be able to cause in her.

"Do you think we should set Harry under a silencing charm, next time he's around Umbridge?", he wanted to know, staring at the door Professor Grubbly-Plank had just used.

"Why? Because he's already reached a point where he does not even have to be in Umbridge's class any more, in order to get her to punish him?", she muttered, eyebrows creasing.

"Spot on. I kind of calculated this through, before, you know?", Ron stated, pretending to ignore her amused expression, "We've got four hours of Defence against the Dark Arts each week, two of them being a double lesson, which means three days each week with Umbridge. If Harry continues to be in such a mood around her, he'll probably end up in her office at least twice a week, right? I mean, he's basically going nuts every second lesson with her, isn't he?"

Hermione nodded, wondering where this was going.

Ron continued, "So, since you told me about the whole effect of Dittany essence, and after seeing how much it actually helps, I thought that Umbridge couldn't really cause any kind of permanent harm to Harry. The cuts are getting a little deeper and stuff, but twice a week is not that often. But now that he's seeing her even in other teachers' lessons..."

"You mean, she might get really dangerous?"

"Dunno.", Ron shrugged, "She doesn't seem to have a problem with violence, does she? What if she's getting even worse over time, and doesn't stop after slicing open his wrist, one night?"

"What I don't get is that Harry's just not talking to Dumbledore about it! They seemed so close to me, last year, Harry and Dumbledore... It was like he was Harry's mentor or something, wasn't it?"

Ron nodded, concernedly. "And now it's like Harry's trying to avoid him all the time... Or vice versa..."

"How could Dumbledore even have let this happen? How could someone like Umbridge become a teacher here, - a Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher, of all things!- after what happened last year?", Hermione muttered, sounding pretty scared to herself at that.

"Well," Ron started, "maybe this is just one of the situations in which we just have to trust Dumbledore's brains, or something... You know, like you always tell me to do when I'm annoyed at him for trusting Snape."

Hermione thought about this for a moment, slightly surprised at Ron for so calmly mentioning one of their favourite bickering topics. "Hm.", she murmured, "I hadn't seen it that way, before."

"It might be a little different here, though", Ron went on, "I think Dumbledore's really trusting Snape, if he's letting him in on the Order... With Umbridge... Well, maybe Dumbledore didn't have any other choice than to let her work here? The ministry is bolloks, after all..."

Hermione laughed. Then, she felt the need to voice something else, that she's been wanting to say to him for days...

"Ron, I..", she started, suddenly nervous, as his eyes met her face sideways, in the flickering light of the wall torches, "I'm really sorry about that letter Percy send you, last week... And I think you're being a great friend to Harry, you know,.. for not even pausing a second..."

She thought about how Ron had ripped his brother's letter, so determinedly.. He'd never turn his back on Harry; on what was right, not even for a part of his own family. Not even for the promise of a great and successful career...

Hermione knew that Ron had envied his brother Percy sometimes, just like he was envying all his other brothers often enough.

Ron wanted to be different,- smarter, better at Quidditch, better at school or better at one of those other, many things that Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred or George had accomplished. Ron would love to have more money, one day; to not have to wear second-hand clothes and the self-made, maroon jumpers from his mum, all the time, and not to be looked down upon by people like Malfoy any more.

But what really mattered to him in the long run, what really made him _Ron_ , were moments like that... Him, sitting there with his older brother's envelope in his fist, shredding it to pieces out of loyalty to Harry and to his parents.. At the end of the day, - after making rude comments about Kreacher, and after talking with tons of food in his mouth, and after interrupting Harry's conversations with Cho Chang over something as unimportant as a Quidditch fan batch on her robes, - Ron Weasley would always do the right thing.

His ears were a burning Gryffindor-red when she looked up. He was rubbing his neck with one freckled hand, a bit embarrassed probably, but she didn't share that sentiment right now. Ron deserved to hear at least a tiny fraction of what she thought of him, sometimes, despite her many selfish concerns about revealing too much.

"Thanks", he muttered, smiling, and put his hand away from his neck.

Had his hands always seemed quite as.. strong?

Gosh, stop it, Hermione!

Maybe it was just that,- the way he'd do little things that made her heart beat faster, and the way they shared private thoughts and worries in deserted hallways, these days, that caused all the bickering, as well... Perhaps, fighting with each other was a valve for a pent-up longing for something entirely else... For something like _this_. For so much more of it...

And it might also be the reason for his behaviour the other day. When she'd mentioned Viktor in a casual conversation, resulting in Ron glaring her way for several _hours,_ afterwards. It was annoying and at the same time terribly interesting to think about her words having such an influence on him. And when he'd asked her if she was still in contact with Viktor... Ron had seemed so jealous once again, so possessive of her. In hindsight, she'd also acted pretty defensive, playing things down and ignoring Ron's confused and upset behaviour..

" _He didn't just want to be your pen-pal.",_ he'd said, ever-so accusingly...

To an outsider, it might have looked as if she and Ron were more than best friends; as if they'd already sorted everything out that stood between them and knew what exactly what they were to each other, instead of this.

But they were moving in the right direction, weren't they?

Last year, Ron's jealousy had sounded different. Not quite as straight-forward.

He wasn't talking any more about how Victor must have had hidden, other intentions when inviting her to the Yule Ball,- by now, Ron was aware of the fact that she hadn't been used as a tool for gaining Turnament-information; he finally seemed to _get_ that Victor had truly been romantically interested in _her,-_ and that was exactly what annoyed Ron.

There seemed to be an unexpressed understanding between them now; a silent promise of something else.

Perhaps, she was just imagining it.

Perhaps, she was just fooling herself, when believing in a future that was filled with what she longed for, between them...

But perhaps, she wasn't fooling herself _at all_...

* * *

 _A.N.: Didn't really have time to proofread this, I hope it's not too bad.. ^°_


	15. Chapter 15

**Stuff like that**

 _(Ron)_

The first Quidditch match of the season, – Gryffindor versus Slytherin, – drew nearer with rapid speed, and even their teachers had realised by now just how important that was. Everyone was anxious, Umbridge had managed to keep the Gryffindor's team from practising for a while in there, after all, with another one of her many new regulations. The DA meetings had stopped, for now, because Angelina insisted on several extra hours of Quidditch training each week, and Ron switched between feeling completely exhausted and feeling absolutely horrified by what was to come.

"I don't really get it, to be honest.", Hermione told him, casually, as they were strolling down one of the corridors they had to observe during prefect rounds, one night. She wasn't looking up from her work, though,- from the happily knitting needles that kept flying around in front of her head, momentarily adding a few pretty buttons to one of her elf-hats. She normally wasn't knitting during prefect rounds, feeling "like their function deserved all of her attention", but tonight, she was feeling _reckless_ , she'd told him. He'd snorted at her definition of the word.

"There are things you don't get?", he joked, watching her in fake-surprise.

She merely rolled her eyes and fumbled with the hem of her cloak sleeve. "I don't get why everyone's so obsessed with this game all the time. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's really interesting to watch a Quidditch match, now and then, and it's really cool that you and Harry are so good at it,"

Ron felt the tips of his ears redden, at that, sheepishly staring at his feet, "- but why is it such a big deal to everyone? So much of a big deal that we are skipping our DA meetings and that Professor McGonagall is changing our lesson plan?"

"Oh, come off it!", Ron protested. "Even you have to admit that it's nice to have a break from all the studying, for a few days! It's true what Fred and George said about the OWL year, it's tough. And aren't you normally always siding up with McGonagall?"

"That's not what I meant Ron, calm down.", she said, an annoyed edge to her voice, as well. "I'm fine with her giving us a little break from all the work, now that you guys are training so much, of course, and I also don't mind a few DA meetings less, or anything, I'm just... I don't know.. It's just hard to comprehend sometimes how different people's priorities are, you know?"

She looked up at him, her confusing ramble being finished, and Ron couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of her flustered expression. "Um.. Okay?"

She sighed, and Ron could tell that they had misunderstood each other, once again. But he didn't want things to resolve into another row. He settled for changing the topic, instead.

"You never told us that you almost became a Ravenclaw, you know?", he stated, and her left side bumped into his elbow and thigh, as she looked up with a questioning expression.

He thought about that situation from one of their last DA meetings, when Hermione had shown everyone those fantastic (though unfortunately, fake) galleons that started to heat up whenever Harry decided on a new date and time for the next training. Yes, her idea was pretty brilliant, of course, but some of the others had basically reacted as if her obvious brains had only just occurred to them, for the first time...

What was that about, Ron wondered? Had none of their classmates paid attention to her, these past few years? _Of course_ she was a genius. Well, not with Quidditch, and such stuff, but apart from that...

"No?"

"No. I actually don't think we ever talked about our moment with the sorting hat at all.", Ron mentioned, actually feeling pretty interested in the matter.

"Hm..", she hummed, lowering her gaze again, thoughtfully, "I suppose we haven't... Then again, we weren't really... close... back then, were we?"

"Yeah, okay, so we weren't friends yet, that first day, but still, we've known each other for,- what, five years now? And I still have no idea how we even came to be in the same house, isn't that weird?"

She actually laughed, her eyes shining somehow, and Ron felt the weirdest desire for a huge chunk of Honeydukes' instantly-tongue-melting-chocolate. Dinner had been too long ago, he realised.

"I don't have any idea how you came to be in the same house as me, either, Ron.", she commented, a grin carrying all the way across her features. He loved it when she looked so carefree, especially if he had caused such a state.

"Well, no huge mystery there, now, is it?", Ron said, pointing up to his red hair. "I'm a Weasley, you know?"

"Yes, but that doesn't make you a Gryffindor right away, Ron.", she said, matter-of-factly. "Parvati and Padma Patil are in different houses,... Percy might not get into Gryffindor, if he was about to wear the hat for a second time, right now..."

"He probably wouldn't.", Ron agreed, grimly, thinking about his older brother's betrayal, and he felt Hermione's fleeting, soft grip on his upper arm, suddenly reading a sense of guilt in her features. She hadn't meant to upset him.

"Sorry.", she mumbled, rather adorably, and Ron slipped into a lighter mood again at record speed, wanting her to ease up.

"It's all right!", he grinned, nudging her with his shoulder. He had to bow down pretty far to do so, and if he was about to grow any further, he might not be able to move that way at all in a few months.

"So, anyway, there's not much of a story with me. I sat there with the sorting hat, he told me a bunch of nice and not so nice stuff, and after a few seconds, I was in." He shrugged. "What about you?", he questioned, finding her side of the story way more interesting, somehow. He had wondered several times already why they were in the same house, if he was being honest. With all her eagerness and ambition and bloody smarts, he assumed she might have made a great Ravenclaw, as well. He was completely relieved that she wasn't though, of course.

Merlin knows where he'd be then, right now, and what his life would look like. He felt like Hermione had changed... everything. His marks profited from her presence, yeah, sure, but there was a lot more than that. Not that he'd ever tell her this,- like, _ever_ ,- but... he felt that she kind of made him a better person. And maybe he was returning the favour, now and then, too... She could get so worried or overwrought, at times, she really needed people like him to relax a little, didn't she?

"What do you mean?", she urged on, curious, "What sorts of _nice_ and _not so nice_ stuff?"

He shrugged.

"Oh, you know, just a bunch of comments about my personality." He adopted what he considered to be a low, mysterious voice; _"'Hey, Ron, you're not really that clever, but you have the heart at the right spot, and stuff, so I'll put you into Gryffindor. Bye!_ ' You know, that sort of thing."

Ron grinned sideways, expecting Hermione to laugh at his sorting hat performance, but she didn't. She looked confused and almost furious, in fact. The edges of her eyebrows were furring into a small triangle above her nose.

"That was _the sort of thing_ the Sorting Hat told you, Ron? That's horrible!"

She shook her head, contemplating something, and then added: "Are you sure you've been listening correctly?"

"Er, yeah, I'm sure!", Ron replied, not really getting what she was even on about. He'd just tried to make a funny comment, and not to get her all riled up again. "Just because you have some kind of supernatural memory power doesn't mean that I can't recall stuff like that, okay Hermione?", he added, slightly sourly.

She shook her head again, and muttered, "Well, I think _stuff like that_ is exactly where your own memory powers run aground, Ron." It sounded more like she was talking to herself, really, but Ron desperately wanted her to explain what she meant, already.

Just as he was about to ask her, a door banged open at the other side of the corridor, revealing a casually arrogant looking Draco Malfoy and a shrilly giggling Pansy Parkinson to them.

"Oh, look who's here!", Malfoy cackled, "Weaselbee and Granger, our _beloved_ prefect colleagues."

Pansy Parkinson snickered and revealed two rows of very unhealthy, pink teethridge. (Ron knew about how unhealthy Pansy's teethridge was because Hermione had once mentioned this to him,- apparently growing up with two "dentists" had taught her to notice these things. Also, she really couldn't stand that stupid cow.)

"What do you want, Malfoy?", Hermione said next to Ron, and he noticed her change in demeanour, the annoyed and slightly imperious ring in her voice. He remembered her using this voice against him and Harry a couple of times,- long ago, when they'd all been way younger, and when she'd been nothing more than this incredibly frustrating, bossy little girl constantly preventing them from having fun and telling people what to do.

And not... well, _her_.

"This hallway is supposed to be patrolled by Griffindor's prefects, not by Slytherin's, so you can just as well leave again and stick to your own duties. Thank you."

"Oh, really, Granger? This hallway is supposed to be patrolled by you two, and not us? Well, that's certainly a shock, isn't it?", Malfoy drawled, causing Pansy Parkinson to erupt in shrill laughter again.

"Just wanted to drop in and remind you to take it easy tonight, okay? We would gladly take some of your prefect duties off of your shoulders, if you like! You don't want to be too exhausted for next week's big Quidditch match, Weasley, do you? Would be a shame if our team wipes the floor with your freckled visage even worse than planned, just because you've been _tired._ "

Ron was about to step forward and punch that bloody tosser in the gut, - prefect status be damned, - but Hermione was quicker in her reaction.

"For overtaking other people's prefect duties you two would have to accomplish your own, first of all, Draco.", she hissed, "Which you obviously don't, since you chose to come here and bother us, instead. Ron and I could report this to one of the teachers, but don't worry, we won't." Malfoy gave an ugly sort of catty, amused snort, but Hermione just carried on.

"It's understandable that you're worried about the match, Gryffindor's obviously going to beat you, and your pathetic attempts to agitate Ron now only show how scared you are of his talent."

Both Malfoy and Parvati roared with laughter, at that, but Ron could feel his skin tingle from something else than furious anger or embarrassment, this time... It was the second time tonight that Hermione was talking about his Quidditch abilities, and he couldn't help but to hope that she wasn't just saying this stuff just in order for him to forget his fear about the upcoming game...

"Me? Scared of Weaselbee's _talent_? Keep kidding yourself, Granger, but Weasley'll always be loser. Just like you'll always be a barmy mudblood, you see?"

"Good night, you losers!", Pansy added, dumbly, - her first participation in their chat, whatsoever. And the two of them turned around, about to leave the hallway again. Just like that, after just having called Hermione a...-

"Ron, what are you doing?!", she gasped, but he'd already moved forwards and threw his shining, ever-so-precious prefect's batch in the direction of Malfoy's scalp. Malfoy, who had started to turn around at the sound of Ron's footsteps, got hit by the force of the metal buckle and Ron's anger, and a huge, quickly blood-flushed spot appeared on his forehead. Ron picked the batch up from where it had clangorously landed on the floor, appearing next to Hermione's side a second later.

"What the..!"

"Draco, let's just go", Parkinson muttered, watching them from across the hallway with a nasty glare. Draco gritted his teeth, but complied, for some reason, making a few rude gestures in their direction and muttering under his breath.

The door fell shut, again, leaving no sound but Ron and Hermione's breathing behind.

He met her gaze, slightly light-headed and shocked, from their weird encounter, not to forget entirely furious, still, too. But she was suddenly grinning,- nervously, giddily,..- A sparkling eyes, quivering lips, twitching nose sort of grin,- and he couldn't help but to join in when she burst out laughing, a second later.

"What was _that_?", she chimed, in between exhilarated giggles.

"That was us telling those douche bags to give it a rest!", he answered, smiling down at her.

"Yes, but did you have to throw your prefect batch at him? That could get you into real trouble, Ron! Remember what happened to Hagrid, after Buckbeak attacked Malfoy?"

She sounded worried, obviously thinking about the whole incident with Draco's Dad, but Ron merely shrugged, a grin still attached to his features.

"Oh, come on, Hermione. It's just like you said, they shouldn't have been here in the first place, and there probably won't even be a bump tomorrow." Ron said the last part with slight remorse, wishing indeed for a bump to appear on Malfoy's forehead. Hermione chuckled at the tone of his voice.

"Also, he really shouldn't have dared to call you _that_ , again.", Ron added in a quiet growl, feeling angry again at the thought.

"I know what you mean. But, as I said, he's only doing this because he wants to provoke, and because he's scared of the match, too."

Ron raised an eyebrow. " _Too_?"

Her eyes widened, embarrassed at her slip. She hadn't _tried_ to imply that she knew about his nervousness, but of course she did, she was Hermione, after all. She just nodded, choosing to be honest, it seemed. "But, Ron, the difference is that Draco _has_ a good reason to be scared of the match. You _don't_. You can do this."

"How would you know?", he stated, looking ahead as they continued walking. "No offence, but Quidditch is not really your strongest suit, Hermione, and you haven't even seen me really play, before."

 _She_ bumped into _his_ side, this time, gently grazing his upper arm and hip and the side of his thigh... Most likely by accident, but maybe...not. He felt pure warmth spread through his veins.

"I just know stuff like that, Ron. Stuff like that is where my _"supernatural memory powers"_ kick in, as you called it."

He returned her smile.

And perhaps, she really was right, he pondered.

* * *

 _A.N.: Hi guys, I'm very sorry for not posting last Friday, I had quite a few pretty bad days last week. I'm planning to post an extra chapter on Monday, and the usual update on Friday will follow, too. Thanks for reading and leaving me your reviews! Lots of love,_

 _~ J._


	16. Chapter 16

_**Thinking**_

 _(Hermione)_

Wind crashed restlessly against the Gryffindor tower, as nightfall approached. Dinner was long over. And it really was way too cold, way too late for him to still be somewhere else than inhere, she thought.

So where _was_ he?

Why was he avoiding them?

The Quidditch match had been a disaster,- a cringe-inducing, heartbreaking mess of a game, and despite all her best efforts to not feel this way, she couldn't help but to completely loathe this stupid _Quidditch_ , right now. This ridiculous, unimportant thing that had led Ron into so much embarrassment and mortification.

 _But_ , she admitted with an inward sigh, of course it was not logical to feel that way, seeing as Ron had loved this game enough to decorate his entire bedroom in the colour of his favourite team's emblem. And he could talk about it for hours on end, a goofy grin making appearance on his face so very often... Almost as often as when he was talking about candy or when he was planning an adventure of some kind.

Her legs twitched nervously, toes curling in and almost digging a hole into the bottom of her left sock. Where are you, Ron?

It had been hours since the game had ended! Almost an entire day had gone by since their short encounter at breakfast. She felt the weirdest longing to see his face again, even though she knew that he would probably be a complete wreck and terribly grumpy in this instant. She wouldn't fight with him, tonight, though. No matter how much he might try, he surely couldn't make her feel anything else but sympathy for him.

Did he have _any_ clue how much it had cost her to drop that kiss on his cheek before the match, by the way?

Was there _maybe_ , possibly, a tiny bit of thought capacity left in his head to think about her, she wondered, or was everything about this day ultimately over-shadowed by their lose?

She had thought about the whole thing for weeks, if she was being entirely honest,- ever since Ron had made it into the team. She'd been looking for an opportunity for such a gesture, anyway, and an important Quidditch match seemed to be a decent occasion for kissing Ron on the cheek. Perhaps, there had even been a small part of her hoping for more,- for a celebration party, maybe, after Gryffindor's win. For a bit of quiet and butterbeer, and, well, for something _more_...

She sighed, looking out into the darkening clouds again. All of that wasn't important now, and surely nothing _more_ would have happened, anyway. It wasn't like anything had changed since this morning. And Ron would surely feel way to devastated to think about anything else than his misery.

'Those idiotic Slytherins!', she thought, gritting her teeth together. Those infuriating, ruthless, _turnips_ with their mean comments and their stupid song! _"Weasley was born in a bin.."_ , who thought of such lyrics? Who would be so pathetic and cruel and horrible like that? Draco Malfoy was, that was for certain!

For days they had harassed Ron, and now this. It somehow felt worse than all the other stuff members of the house Slytherin had done to complicate her life, so far, Hermione thought,- worse than the comments about her dirty blood or about Harry being a maniac. Ron was terribly insecure about his Quidditch abilities, and the way Draco and his cronies took advantage of that fact was just disgusting to her. She knew that there was nothing wrong with her blood. There was nothing wrong with her parents, with her origin. And Harry knew that he wasn't insane or dangerous. It might infuriate him to hear people talk like that, but it did not make him doubt his sanity. He knew that he was right, and eventually, everyone else would know, too.

But Ron had no faith in his Quidditch abilities, and he might actually believe those muppets. He _had_ during the game today. And now he was still not back, still all alone somewhere... She feared for his safety, for his health, out there in the upcoming darkness and cold. She feared for his feelings, too. She wanted him to come back.

* * *

Ron _came_ back, eventually.

Shivering from the freezing weather and in a horrible mood, - in fact, he looked so lost and ashamed of himself that she really was about to jump up and hug him, for a split-second... Maybe even give him another kiss on the cheek, in spite of all her nervousness when doing it, this morning... But she _wouldn't_ do it, of course. Don't lose your head, Hermione, just calm down.

After hearing about Harry's and George's fight with the Slytherins, and about their following encounter with Umbridge, Ron felt even worse than before. He somehow managed to talk himself into believing that the twins' and Harry's Quidditch ban was his fault, too; and then Harry,- who also was understandably sulky,- started bickering with Ron,...- It just was a pretty bad evening for everyone.

But then, they noticed that Hagrid was back on the school grounds, and that made everything... somehow even worse.

Because Hagrid didn't look like Hagrid, really, all covered with bruises and black spots and tiny scars, like that. He told them about his time with the giants, and with "Olympe". His mission from Dumbledore had lacked in success, but there was still reason to hope, he thought... Maybe one or two of the giants would change their minds. Maybe some of them would support their side when it eventually came down to war.

Hermione snuggled closer into her blankets, now, trembling uncomfortably. The other girls in her dorm were fast asleep, quiet engulfed her bed curtains except for a few silent sounds of breathing or snoring. It was probably way past midnight, now. But sleep wouldn't come.

Not when there was Umbridge, somewhere in this building,- an evil toad who might dismiss Hagrid if he wasn't uncharacteristically careful with the planning of his next lessons.

Not when there was Malfoy, somewhere near, merely sleeping when only just having attacked Ron the way he had.

Not when there was a war ahead.

She wasn't able to sleep now, she knew.

Maybe she could do some extra studying then, at least? That always calmed her down.

She sneaked out of bed, her hand wrapped safely around her wand, and the book that still lay almost forgotten on her night stand seemed like a safety buoy now. Her knee-length, light-blue nightgown felt a bit too cold, but the fireplace in the common room would surely be warming enough for now.

As she reached the end of the stairs, though, she found herself not alone in the low, orange flickering of the fire.

"Ron?"

He looked up, his features smoothing from an almost helpless expression into a look of surprise.

"Hermione?"

"Why are you still up?", she queried, and stepped closer,- inwardly cringing at how demanding she sounded. She needed to leave him be, give him space,- it made sense for him to still be up, too, she realised.

He shrugged, wordlessly looking back into the flames of the fireplace, but at the same time he shifted slightly on the coach to make room for her. She took this as a good sign, silently dropping into the cushion a metre apart from him.

"Just... thinking.", he sighed, and it took her a moment to realise that he was still referring to her question.

"About what?", she asked, just as silently.

"What do you think?", he responded, sounding annoyed, but before any spark of anger or hurt could reach her, he sighed once again, frustratedly. "Sorry.", he added, and back was the irrational desire to get closer to him, to wrap her arms around his body and feel him do the same to her. _(Stop it, Hermione.)_

"I don't know.", she murmured. "There's a lot of stuff to think about, at the moment."

"Is there?", he muttered, and perhaps it was supposed to sound ironic, but it didn't. He said it as if there really weren't that many different topics to think about, right now.

"M-hm. Sure."

"Give me an example.", he dared her.

"You could think about Hagrid.", she offered, because that was the first thing that came to mind, after such an evening. "Giants and Hagrid's mother and so on. About the horrible influence many wizards and witches had on other magical beings already, in the past, and about the importance of supporting projects against this." He chuckled slightly at her lame reference on S.P.E.W., and for once she didn't mind that he wasn't taking it all that seriously.

"You could think about Hagrid's whole relationship with 'Olympe'", Hermione kept on, relieved as his amused, almost carefree smile stayed in place,"Or maybe about make-up."

Ron raised a confused eyebrow at that. "Why that?"

"Well, that's what I was thinking about when I saw Hagrid's face.", she explained, matter-of-factly. "'He should better cover all these bruises up, somehow, before Umbridge meets him. Makes him look even more unusual. Doesn't it?"

"Oh.", Ron said, contemplating this, "Yeah, you're right, that would have been clever... Well, now it's too late."

"No, it's not!", Hermione argued, suddenly feeling terribly worried about Hagrid's job again. She'd need to have another talk to him, before he started teaching them about some horribly dangerous creatures,- right under the nose of someone as eager to get rid of him as Umbridge.

"Calm down, I just meant the whole make-up thing.", Ron answered, rolling his eyes at her, "It's too late for Hagrid to cover his bruises up in front of Umbridge. Not for him to keep his job."

Hermione shot him a sidelong glance, momentarily amazed by his ability to guess her illogical thoughts just right. For a few minutes, comfortable silence filled the dim-lit room, crackling pieces of wood in the fire making her slightly drowsy, suddenly. Hadn't she been having trouble sleeping, before? The idea seemed confusing, now.

"What else could I think about?", Ron asked, then, startling her with his voice,- and also, somehow, with his closeness. The gleam of the room was so warm, casting soft shadows everywhere... A distant part of her planned to lean into his side and to just look for sleep with her head on his shoulder.

"You could think about your parents.", she mumbled, weirdly ignoring her own sleepy words.

"What about them?", Ron queried, softly.

She shrugged. "That they are great people?"

"You think so?", Ron wondered, almost sounding hopeful, perhaps. Or maybe, she was just imagining it.

"Of course I do, Ron.", she yawned. How could anyone not like his parents?

"Hermione", he started, for the first time now fully looking at her, and for the first time really grinning, "Why are _you_ still up, anyway?"

She shrugged, exhaustedly leaning into the back of the sofa, rubbing her left eye. "Just... thinking.", she explained, awkwardly realising that she was repeating his earlier phrasing. He actually laughed.

"Hm. Okay.", he commented, shaking his head. "Hey, maybe we should both just go and get some sleep.", Ron suggested, and now he was the one sounding so very tired.

"Yes", she answered, "We probably should."

But it took her quite long to leave the comfort of that spot and make her way back upstairs to the girls' dorms. When they finally parted ways, Ron was lazily smiling at her. Tomorrow, he might not even remember their short, pointless chat on the couch in the common room any more. He'd only remember what happened earlier, she thought,- the match, the losing. It would overshadow common room light by far.

But for now, there was other stuff to think about than all their current problems. For tonight, pointless talking with Ron had been really quite nice.


End file.
